After All, You Do Know Best
by genevevewrites
Summary: Things could have been different. Fic takes off during that fateful scene with Henry and Jane locked in a kiss. After that, things change. Will Anne's path remain carved to death, or can she change her fate?
1. Chapter 1

This is my very first Tudors fiction. It was fun to write, and I do hope to continue with this. Please point out my blunders! The story takes off right before the scene where Anne catches Henry and Jane in a rather compromising position. Apologies if the first few paragraphs are a bit rushed and confusing. I typed them up reallllly quickly. The fic is of my own creation directly after Anne leaves the room.

Oh, and don't forget to review. :P

**Disclaimer: **_All characters, and everything that has to do with the Showtime series, The Tudors, belongs to, well, Showtime. Basically, __I own nothing._

"Where have I left those pearls?" Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, muttered to herself. Seemingly, she had misplaced the string of lovely jewels. They were small spheres, glittering in their creamy white color, bound together by a pale pink ribbon. Oh, it was such a beautiful necklace. Perhaps she had left it in the sitting room adjacent the dining hall. After supper last evening the necklace had been pinching her skin, causing a considerable amount of pain. She must have slipped it off quickly before walking to her bedroom for undressing.

Anne gathered her deep blue skirts in large fistfuls, making her way down the narrow hall without noise. Her slippered feet made a gentle plodding on the mahogany floors. It seemed ludicrous to be so deeply worried over an item of jewelry, when much larger obstacles were making their way into her life. The obstacles were rapidly becoming claws, deeply fastening themselves in both her mind and heart. Anne paused, the folds of her dress bunching around her ankles. Her eyes dropped to the ground, weakness overcoming her. Even thinking of such things destroyed any increment of inner peace she had found over the course of the day.

"The pearls, Anne," She reprimanded herself in a coarse whisper, moving off once again. Anne's raven colored hair bounced with each step she took. Her eyes skimmed each door, seductive and dark, beckoning her inside. Finally, her eyes locked upon the large door that was the suspected hiding place of her necklace. As she reached for the doorknob, Anne realized it would have been much more simple to just have a servant search for it, or better yet, have a new one purchased. It was only proof that even as the Queen of England, a spartan side lived within her.

"Oh my God," She breathed, as soon as her eyes raked in the scene before her. "Oh my God!" Her mouth reformed the words, however at a much louder volume. Anne's breath caught in her throat acutely, allowing no breath down into the deep pits of her lungs. Briefly, she looked away, unable to process this. Henry, oh Henry, sitting with that-that wench upon his knee! Their lips were interlocked in a moment of passion, intruded upon by Anne. Sheer lust burned behind Henry's eyes, illuminating them with a charge that should have been directed towards his wife. Now they turned upon her with shock and irritation. "What is this?" Anne questioned, doubled over and ready to break. The world was crushing in upon her, slowly, blackening the corners of her vision. How could this be happening? Oh good Lord, how could this be happening? Painfully, she jerked her eyes up to look at them both. Jane sat with such frigid poise and fright, looking as if she were a bird prepared to take fright if Anne moved. Meeting her Queen's gaze, Jane rushed from Henry, cautiously standing behind his chair. Behind the water in her eyes, all Anne could see was the swishing cream colored silk of Jane's frock.

Immediately, Anne began to tremble with months worth of pent up rage. No, she was not blind. She had seen Henry's wandering eyes and his waning interest in her. But as soon as her stomach was beginning to acquiesce to her repeated trails for a healthy baby, he was ready to trade her in for a golden haired whore? No, this simply couldn't be! Her quivering hands took the door, slamming it closed with an amount of force even she did not know was within her. Anne's seething anger was crossing the thin line into violence, the same violence lurking beneath her clenched fists, directed both at Henry and Jane.

"Just when my belly is doing its business, I find you _wenching _with Mistress Seymour!" She had not noticed Henry standing, his capable arms desperately trying to smother her outrageous noise. Anne was mentally careening out of control, sucking in large gulps of air. She searched for some stable object to steady her mind, and found the nearest table to lean over. "God," She choked, the disbelief still not subsiding. _I should have seen this coming._

"Sweetheart," Henry attempted to soothe, quickly seeing that with Lady Seymour in the room, it would be futile. "Jane, you had best leave." He called over his shoulder, trapping Anne once again. She needed to be quieted before the entire Court new of this affair.

"Why are you doing this?" Anne's shaking voice was hardly a whisper. She felt her belly doing unnatural acts; twisting, turning, revolting. Her breath was now hardly coming at all. "Why did you have to do this?" She continued, turning to look up at her husband. His eyes were like the lake outside of the castle perimeters, iced over and glaring. No remorse, sorrow, or shame showed in them. The only thing moving were his lips, tender and curved. Words from Henry were the last thing Anne wanted to hear. She knew his games. She had seen the tricks he had played on Catharine and herself alike, simpering and sweet to quiet their anger. But Anne didn't want his apologetic lies or explanations. She wanted for Henry to feel sorrow, to love her as he used to.

As Henry opened his mouth to speak, Anne struck him in the bicep, as hard as her drained body could muster. He had committed the act of infidelity even while his child was in her stomach. She had been warned of this-this process, of mistress', but nobody warned her how difficult it would be. Had she just been Henry's puppet all along, someone to gracefully fill the mold as Queen? Hadn't he loved her?

Now, Henry was approaching her as she swiftly backed away. His arms were opened, grabbing her at each chance they got. Each time, Anne would vehemently jerk her sleeve or hand away.

"No!" She screamed, turning to bolt from the room, run as far away a Queen could run.

"Please!" Henry repeated over and over again.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Anne sobbed, finally collapsing under the weight of her own tears. They flowed from her crystalline colored eyes in steady torrents, splashing down onto Henry's hands, which were now securely wrapped around her waist. This was not the kind of embrace she had dreamed about for many nights. Anne writhed and kicked, not one to give in to the King. Her energy was slowly draining, down until it trickled to nothing. She finally lay in his firm hold, crying uncontrollably.

"Stop, stop it!" Henry hissed against her ear. "Stop it," He was gentle now, feeling her still slim body go slack in his arms. "Please." His voice was a whisper, chin resting against her shoulder. He had never planned on being discovered. Seeing Anne in so much pain was excruciating, only for the reason she could lose his heir if she distressed herself too greatly. He continued to coo to her, feeling her delicate white hand stroke his face.

Anne regained her steady breathing pattern. Her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders, escaping the pin it was contained with. One hand feebly brushed against her belly, as if the baby had disappeared as soon as Henry's lips came in contact with Jane's. They stood fused together like this for innumerable seconds, Anne panting for air and searching for answers, and Henry glad that her fit had subsided.

Very suddenly, Anne shoved herself away from the King.

She had regained her poise, along with her demeanor. As soon as her fingers touched the swell of her stomach, an unfulfillable melancholy had lit inside of her like a fire. For months she had been worrying herself to illness at the thought of her husband with another woman, and now that she had seen it, and was calm enough to process her thinking, she needed to be alone. She needed to escape. Anne needed a way out. Millions of emotions were overwhelming her at the moment. She had witnessed something that would forever change her life.

"Anne-" Henry was making an advance, but Anne coolly pulled her skin away from his reach. Perplexed, he halted. "Anne, I wish to-"

"Stop," She snapped, staring into his eyes as a route for leaving worked its way into her mind. Anne wiped at the remaining tears laying on her cheeks and gathered her skirts. This time as she made her way for the door, Henry did not try to stop her. It was only as her hand twisted the knob of the door she felt his feverish palm on her own. Anger burned underneath his skin, she could feel it. Before he could utter a sound, Anne pushed the door open, but lingered in the room.

"I think it's best you leave me alone," She spoke with certainty, fury stricken eyes flickering up to meet his gaze. Unshed water glittered behind them. Before she could let them fall, Anne turned her head. She left the morbid room, folds of her dress bunched in the tight hold of her fists.

Anne rushed down the hallway, not taking the time to walk with grace. Her legs churned beneath the yards of rustling fabric, moving her down the endless, meandering halls. All she needed now was a private place, some place where she could, indeed, be alone. She stumbled down the stone staircase, chest heaving back and forth in a wild rhythm. The tears were forming behind her eyelids once again, but a small grin was forced onto her lips for the onlookers scattered about the castle's corridors and hallways. Each time she would see another person upon her path, Anne would dip her head and smile, acting as if nothing were amiss. If only they all knew! Each humble member of the Court would pay their respects to their Queen, confusion behind their blank faces. Some of the more erudite members in the castle even took the liberty to ask her if everything was all right. It was at times like these that Anne fervently wished she was not the Queen.

Her walk continued, rushed and uneasy steps carrying her to the garden just on the perimeter of the castle. Thank God nobody was observing the foliage now! All of the roses and azaleas were wilted, their fiery colors taken away with the winter temperatures. Thorns stuck out like sharp black omens, waiting to slice open Anne's skin at any moment. She paid no heed to the flowers. Nature never struck a deep chord within her, especially in winter when they were all long deadened.

Luckily, no snow laced the ground. The grounds were green, an icy sheet over each cold blade of grass. In the prior days, temperatures had been moderate, melting away the snow and leaving a facade of spring. Unfortunately, the crisp air still remained, shooting a chill down Anne's spine.

As she finally found her way to an enclosed portion of the garden, where no one in the castle could spot her, Anne let out the breath she had been holding. For what seemed like days, she stood, face distorted as one about to cry. The brisk air whipped around her, tossing the curls of her hair and winding about her ankles. Finally, she could contain it no longer. Anne sank to her knees. The tears formed and spilled more quickly than she could process. Her flight from the scene with Henry had just been one long pent up of tears, all of them now pouring from her eyes. Anne's hands gripped the earth, clumps of dirt forming around her curled fingers. It was a wonder she had not broken down like this earlier. Her dress was a sufficient cushion against the hard surface of the ground. It did not matter that the garment would be ruined. It was only a garment after all.

Slowly, her mind began unweaving.

Everybody had warned her of this. The King would take his mistress', and it was the Queen's duty to bear it. So why was this so difficult? _It's because you love him. _Her mind answered. Anne refused to believe it. How could she love such a vile, infidel of a man? She turned her eyes up to the looming castle with its strong stone walls and effortless beauty. Henry was inside of those walls, most likely chasing after Jane Seymour once again. How she hated him! Struck with a sudden combination of fury and irreparable sadness, Anne leaned over the ground, shoulders shaking with sobs. Her aching heart was straddling the thin, but acrid line of love and hatred.

It was all so inconceivable. Only a short year prior to this day, she and Henry had been out of their mind's in love with each other. His courting of her was quick and simple, and his courting of her heart was the same. The first time she had captured his rapt attention was behind a golden mask. At the time she was confident in trapping his emotions, but soon after he began to trap hers. She was a fool for falling in love with Henry Tudor. But did she not have a right to love her husband?

He was slipping through her fingers like gravel. She was losing him, and soon, she would lose her position as Queen. It ailed her to distraction to think of this. When Henry loved, he loved with incredible passion, but when that love waned, he was so cold and spent. Losing Henry was a death sentence, considering the fact that her chances at delivering a male heir were slim. Anne choked on her tears, and touched her swelling stomach. What if this was a beautiful baby girl? Or what if she ended up having no child at all? Anne was never healthy with child, it had been proven.

As she pulled her soiled fingers up from the ground, Anne took in a large breath. She must look ridiculous. Small half-moons of dirt were lodged in her finger nails, face streaked with water, hair a wispy mess, frock dirtied beyond repair. Whatever happened to that strong, poised Queen of years past? How could she ever bring a child into this world and carry the weight of a kingdom upon her drooping shoulders?

She felt blindingly alone. All she had was herself. Even as the Queen, Anne Boleyn was alone. Nobody would be there to protect her if Henry cast her aside. A new round of tears touched her eyes. Oh God, what would she do? Anne encircled her arms around the narrow trunk of a nearby tree, finding little comfort in its barky torso. She longed for the tree to be a warm, compassionate human being, one who cared for her without an ulterior motive. But when she looked through her the watery veil over her eyes, it was only a tree, and she was alone.

Yet, she was tired of being alone. Alone was not what she was made to be. After another wasted twenty minutes of sobbing and pity, Anne staggered to her feet. Many people would be worrying about her whereabouts. Surely she had told somebody that she passed by she had just gone for a quickl stroll through the garden. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she stroked her belly. Though it was such a common task, a charge surged through the Queen. She sniffed, scrubbing the lingering tears off of her face with the back of her hand. Things weren't over yet. She could not let her husband lay each stepping stone to her fate.

"I cannot give up," said she, through gritted teeth and determination. If she had captured him once, she could ensnare him again. Though she would have to be a bit more crafty and sagacious this time around, Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, was going to get Henry back somehow, for the child she was about to bring into the world. She simply had to. It seemed so simple, yet it would be the most difficult and perhaps impossible task she had ever faced in her life.

_I believe there is a certain review button down there. Hehe, xD_

_Thank you for reading!_


	2. Long Live the King

_Author's Note: I am so thankful for all of the reviews I have received for my last chapter. Thank you so much! I never expected such a positive response. :)_

_This chapter is half from Henry's perspective, half from Anne's. The chapter immediately following this one has a LOT more interaction between them, don't worry. _

_As for Anne's appearance (As I describe it) it is based on television show, not history. I understand that Anne had dark hair and black eyes. XD_

_Sorry for prattling on, but thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoy._

**Long Live the King:**

_He had to have an heir._

"Why can she not understand?"Henry the VIII, King of England, growled under his breath. The problem was, Henry was the one who did not understand how much his wife yearned for a male child.

Henry had not uttered a solid flow of words to his wife for what seemed like months, when in reality it had only been one week. Seven days. She was being remarkably distant, coldly replying to every attempt at a conversation he made. It completely baffled him.

At the present time, he sat in the most comfortable chair the castle had to offer, facing a window overlooking the East pond. His eyes were hot with rage, two matching slabs of ice. What was unfurling before them: Anne chasing their giggling daughter, Elizabeth, who stumbled and wobbled away from her mother on unsteady legs. An odd memory resurfaced in his mind. Directly after the birth of his daughter, Anne had sincerely apologized to him. There was a look in her eyes of cautious uncertainty, and her demeanor from that day forward had been laced with nerves, anticipating what was to come if her next born child happened to not be a male.

It was impossible to understand. When so many events had occurred in the past days, how could she be ignoring him? Henry was seeing less and less of her, but when he did catch a glimpse of his wife, she was either enjoying the company of other men and women, or laughing and playing with their daughter.

Grave and confused, Henry turned his focus back on the scene under the window. He watched the intricate details of Anne's pale pink frock, sashaying with her movements. Her skirts were hiked well about the waist-line, as Anne always tried to conceal her condition from the eyes of the Court.

"Good Lord Henry, they will know in due time. When a new baby is in my arms, I think the Court will become rather suspicious, do you not?" She would answer peevishly if he so much as mentioned her attire. Henry knew the real reason Anne did not want to Kingdom to know. It was because she believed this child will be lost, like the others. She was plagued by the paranoia of all of England knowing of her infertility. They would know their Queen could deliver no heir.

Upon this subject, Henry had already made up his mind. If the baby due to be born in one month is not a male, he would leave Anne. He was already quite sick of the turmoil she brought into the Kingdom. Everybody was wary of Anne's intentions as Queen, and the legitimacy of their first born, Elizabeth. He would be damned to the deepest pits of hell if he allowed that dark-haired whore ruin his name! In an impassioned moment, Henry lurched to his feet, only the sink down in his chair once again, doubled over in pain. Yes, this was the whole reason he was resting. His leg. The best doctor in Court had just been in to dress the wound and order Henry new medication. Before taking his leave, the doctor had warned against any sudden movements or dangerous activity.

Aloud, Henry cursed the wound. Life had been such an utter bore without being mobile. He could no longer gallop through the green terrain of England upon his favorite mount, or fence with a wisp thin sword, effortlessly vanquishing his opponent. His body was taking notice of the change too. The thick riding muscles he had built over his legs were slowly deteriorating, along with his waist thickening with the wine and cakes he had been devouring out of pure boredom. It seemed that without his daily quarrels with Anne, there was not very much to do.

That is, except for Lady Seymour.

Immediately, Henry's face split into a grin. His light eyes glittered, though no longer with burning rage. They held humor, dark and lustful and secretive. His face held an appealing mixture of boyishness and roguishness. Ah, Jane. With her hair the color and thickness of honey, eyes as blue as the lapping waters of the sea, skin so delicate and white... such touchable skin. He yearned for her every moment of the day. It was a wonder he had not discovered the woman earlier. She was the loveliest female who had ever graced the Court. Henry dreamed of making her his Queen, the sweet night after where he could consummate their new covenant, which would hopefully result in a baby boy; the perfect heir.

Yet, something Anne had said still haunted his thoughts. She had screamed it at him the night she had witnessed him kiss Lady Seymour. It was the last night they had truly spoken.

"_You'll be bored with her within a month!" She had spat, fixing her arresting gaze upon him. _

Henry had been unable to shoot a reply back at her. He only ordered her to leave, finished with the shouting match. All Anne Boleyn was, was a whore. That's what mostly everybody told him. But, there was always something about her. Even before their marriage, nobody had wanted the fair-skinned beauty as their Queen. It was this... edge, that surrounded Anne wherever she went which had attracted him to her. She had spirit, beauty, intelligence, paired with stubbornness, petulance, and ignorance. The negative features of her always seemed to outshine the good. When he once thought of Anne with love, he know looked at her with disdain.

He could not let his country fall to its knees at the hands of Rome. Nor could he let his family's name be ground to dust. After seeing the Civil war of years ago, England needed a strong hand to guide it, like a wild colt who needed a Pelham bit. With good conscious, Henry could not let a woman or a man of another bloodline sit in the saddle and take control.

Moment after moment of dark brooding passed. He mulled over many things. Even if the child Anne bore was a son, what could he do with her if he fell in love with Jane? His feelings for her were already taking root, pulling at the strings of his mind and driving him to distraction. Henry thought back on her quiet disposition and willingness to obey his every command. She was easily controlled, which was what he wanted in a Queen. Anne had a mouth that needed to be curbed. She constantly tried to offer him suggestions for the Court, which no Queen should be making. Yet, he always felt blindly alive in her presence. She sent an odd, but thrilling electricity through his veins. For a moment, Henry frowned. That shock would go away in time, it did with every woman.

There was a slow creaking sound that shattered the cold silence in the room.

"Your Majesty," A servant folded in a deep bow, removing a calico hat. The man before him was fresh out of boyhood, tall in stature, but carrying the nervous twittering of a short man about him. It was rather annoying. "Is there anything I may get for you?"

Henry dismissively waved his hand and looked out the window. The man bowed again and turned for the door.

"Actually, yes," Henry spoke without tearing his eyes away from the window. Anne and Elizabeth were now looking down into the waters of the pond, pointing out fish. He flashed a wolfish smile. "Fetch me Mistress Seymour."

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"Darling, look! That is a large one, isn't it?" Anne whispered against her daughter's mass of curls, finger leading Elizabeth's eyes through the murky waters towards a bright orange fish, who flitted back and forth beneath the liquid. Elizabeth pounded her hands together in an effort to clap in delight. Her mother laughed.

"Her Majesty?" A lady servant named Mary questioned, dipping in a curtsy. She was one of the few workers of the castle who could handle Elizabeth. "Shall I take Miss Elizabeth inside for her afternoon meal?"

Anne had not realized so much time had passed! It seemed only moments ago that they had toddled through to morning mist, picking the few blooming flowers in the garden for Elizabeth to put in her hair. She looked up, seeing the melting afternoon sun high in the sky. "Yes, yes of course! How clumsy of me to forget the time," Anne turned to look look at her daughter kneeling over the edge of the pond, searching for her fish friend in the black waters. "Elizabeth, come now. It's time for your lunch." She extended her hand, which the infant took in hers, allowing her mother to lead her back to where the servant stood. As soon as Mary grinned at Elizabeth and grabbed her hand, she burrowed her face into Anne's skirts, unwilling to leave. Anne smiled very gently. "Darling, I promise to find you as soon as you are done with your meal, and whisk you off to play once again. But first, you must eat." She stroked her daughter's hair, looking down at the round face full of misunderstanding. Elizabeth only had a grasp on a few words and most likely had not understood a word of what Anne had said.

She looked back at Mary and nodded her head. The woman understood this message and pried Elizabeth from Anne's skirt and scooped her into her arms. Anne grinned at her little girl, waving good-bye while blowing a kiss. Luckily Mary was wonderful with children, and could expertly handle Elizabeth. If it had been anybody else who pulled her away from playing with her mother, a good crying bout would follow.

Anne watched the two disappear behind the stone walls of the castle, Elizabeth's hands wrapped about Mary's neck. She sighed softly, and turned back to look at the serene waters of the pond. After chasing her daughter for such a long time, she had to fight the heaviness of her eyelids. Small red flowers with heart-shaped leaves carpeted the rim of the waters. Had the landscape not been so beautiful, Anne believed she would drift off to sleep right in the bed of flowers.

It certainly had been a trying, tiring week. With Henry's actions alone it wore her down to the bone, but on top of that she had been occupied with her daughter and other members of the Court as well. Despite the horrific pain of the week, she had also experienced a great deal of joy. It had been so long since Anne had laughed like she had in the past days! And it was not only laughter that had brought her happiness. This baby was kicking. She could feel it almost every day. With her past pregnancies, which had been stillborn, there had been small kicks, but they were almost too weak to feel. These kicks were hard, healthy thumps. Not even Elizabeth had been so active in her stomach! Each time she felt her child's movement, Anne would grin and press her palms to her belly. This baby was growing by the minute, it just had to be. Anne attributed this growth to the meticulous care of her body and emotions.

For the past several days, Anne had taken a great interest in distancing herself from the King. His presence only brought distress and tears, unwanted emotions for a pregnancy.

_I wish there was a way I could remove Mistress Seymour from among my Ladies. _She thought wistfully, knowing the woman was the center of all their turmoil as husband and wife. She had expressed this wish to her father days prior, and he had answered by telling her there was a way she could. _Deliver Henry what is rightfully his. Keep the King happy. _Anne knew she could. She had to. Anne had been a fool with her past children. She had dwindled her state of mind down to exhaustion, resulting in dead offspring. Now, she had to focus on her child, instead of herself. Anne had to feel the joys in her life, and set aside the dark corners of her days. It was her last hope of giving a life to Henry and keeping her own from his hands.

**Game Plan: **_ The next chapter is called 'The Birth'. I wonder what that could mean.... hehe. After that, things between the King and Queen really start to blend. In a good or bad way, you'll have to read to find out. :p_

_Quick Note: I keep referring to Anne worrying for her life, because she knows Henry could divorce her, or find some reason to send her to her death. She's grown used to the way his mind works and after all, she saw what he did to Katharine. Essentially, a divorce would emotionally kill her. She loves the man, remember. _

_Editing: I did not re-read this chapter either, so please pardon the awkward sentences for now, and hopefully I will have them revised in the near future._

_Eeep, I'm prattling again. Sorry!_

_Look! There's an adorable thing called a review button down there! Lol._

_  
Thanks for reading. (I'm done now, I promise. xD)_


	3. The Birth

The Birth.

It all began with a spoonful of soup.

Anne sat in the dining hall with select members of the Court scattered about her. An unappetizing bowl of stew sat in front upon the table, serving as a rapid midday meal. She had missed dining with Henry due to an unsettled stomach, and was now hastily trying to compensate before he rode to Dover with his retinue in an hour's time.

"Your Majesty, does the meal displease you?" A maidservant questioned, noticing the thick spoon full of broth not meeting her Queen's lips. Caught in a dazed moment, Anne quickly looked up. Pairs upon pairs of eyes were appraising her, some with worry, others with boredom.

"No, not the meal. I suppose it is an ailment within my stomach." She responded, grazing her fingers over the swell in her abdomen. What she had told the servant was not a lie. Ever since the first glimmers of light in the dawn, a gnawing pain had buried itself in the bottom of her pelvis. At first it was only a dull reminder that she was with child, and it occurred at very extended intervals. But as time seemed to ware on, the discomfort began to reoccur more quickly. Each moment they arrived, Anne would fight to conceal her wincing.

At the present moment, Anne pulled the soup to her mouth, knowing that she was eating for two these days. The warm liquid poured into her mouth. It tasted vile. She had predicted eating would cause her even more pain. Her stomach revolted, pushing Anne to spit it back out. It was begging her not to put any food into her stomach, not now, not at such an imperative time. Yet, Anne put on one of her often used facades and grinned, pulling the soup down her throat. It landed with a stinging slosh in her stomach.

"Oh God," She moaned, dropping the spoon with a loud thud onto the table. A burning sensation filled her bladder. The loose folds of her pale muslin day dress grew damp when her tremblings fingers gripped onto the chair for support. It felt as if gallons of water had been released from within her, along with one of the horrific pains all in one, simple movement.

"Get help! The Queen has been poisoned!" A panicked servant screamed, prancing with eyes glazed like a rabid animal's. Everyone in the Court had been trained for what to do in the emergency of the Queen either being poisoned or going into labor. There was a loud bustling as legs began moving under stiff taffeta dress'. Many doors creaked open and slammed closed. Grim, fearful faces appeared over Anne. None of them she remembered. Anne waited for the claws in her uterus to unwind themselves before speaking in breathless tones.

She pulled herself to her feet shakily, faintly knowing what was going on within her reproductive system. After all, she had already born a daughter. "Not poison. My baby... he's coming." These incomplete sentences were all Anne could manage. Mixed within the pain was the alarming feeling of dread and fear. _ Please good sovereign Lord, let this be the male I have so desired._

Ever fiber within Anne's being was shaking. The throbbing pains in her belly were driving her to insanity, and they were incessant, granting the Queen no breaks for air. Groaning and clutching her stomach, Anne sank back down into her chair, knowing full well now that her water had been broken, causing the dampness of her dress. It clung and dripped around her legs.

A chorus of voice were shouting around the room.

"Get Hetty!"

"Alert the Ladies'!"

"For Gods' Sake, tell the King!"

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"Come, Your Grace, follow me." An elderly mid-wife was at her side within moments, patiently holding one of her clenched fists. Two scatter-brained maids had called for her and the Ladies', telling them it was urgent. Through the opened doors emerged the remaining mid-wives and Ladies, the last few who had been taken from their activities in other areas of the castle to assist their Queen.

Anne was escorted from the dining hall, her legs stumbling and wavering in weakness. The pains were coming so quickly now... they hardly left a minute of space between themselves! Many times Anne had to pause in the candle-lit hall to squeeze the hands of those around her, nearly crushing their delicate bones with her strength. It was at these moments she would groan or perhaps scream. The kind faces around her faltered each time Anne's shrill cries echoed through the castle.

"In here, quickly. There is no time for the birthing chambers." The same gray haired woman shuffled the women into the nearest dark room with a deserted bed left barren of sheets, a long abandoned fireplace, and little else. The wooden floors carried a grimy coat of dust, the single window overlooking the courtyard was cracked through the middle; how convenient that _this_ had to be the room closest to a Queen in labor! The Ladies knew so little of the process of birthing that they blindly followed the old woman's orders, wary of so disheveled a room. Some were even as bold to protest the old woman.

"The Queen cannot possibly give birth in here!" One dark haired maiden cried, soaking in the dismal area before her.

"It's either here, the kitchen, or the hall. We cannot risk taking Her Majesty up any stairs. We are fortunate a bed with four sturdy legs is still here!" Nobody questioned the woman who's real name was unknown to most in the castle, but everyone addressed as Hetty.

"Quickly, girl!" She pointed to a young woman with a long braid the color of wheat. "Light the fire." One thing the Ladies learned of Hetty very quickly: she was curt. She spoke with an unrestrained tongue, used harsh methods, and was unafraid of hurting their sheltered feelings. But one thing Hetty did well, was find her way through emergencies quickly and without falter. This was the sole reason she was the head mid-wife of the Court. She was called for nearly every birth. "You! Fetch a basin of warm water, a ball of twine, and all of the clean cloths you can find. Don't bother coming back without them, we haven't much time." She barked orders to each free set of hands in the room.

Had Anne not been in such blistering pain, she would have been appalled at the woman. Her grammar was horrendous.

"Your Majesty? Please take a seat on the bed. That's wonderful there, thank you." She only exercised the few manners she had learned around the Queen. Hetty turned with sharp eyes towards the Ladies once again. "Must I tell you everything? Go fetch the Court doctor and tell him to be here in the case of an emergency I cannot correct. Alert everyone you know that the Queen is about to deliver a child." The two girls rushed from the gloomy room. Everything was moving so quickly. The Queen's pain was increasing, as were the volume of her screams. The heat was unbearable, and the fire cackled behind their backs, as if chuckling.

"It's almost like Halifax inside of there," The first whispered to the second as they turned the corner of the hall.

Hetty clicked the door closed behind the two maidens who had left the room. She wanted the Queen's horrific screams to be muffled. The Court would be panicked if they could hear the magnitude of her pain.

Remaining in the makeshift birthing room, were only six of the Ladies. Two were on each side of Anne, holding her hand and nervously trying to soothe her. The others were busy creating a fire inside of the smoky pit it was forced inside. Hetty pursed her thin lips in displeasure. This was not a fit birthing scene for the Queen of England. It was clearly too late in the birth for the birthing chambers, which was equip with dozens of towels, twine, fresh sheets, water basins, wide windows, and necessities for any mother and child. Why did it have to be three floors and four stony staircases away?

With a sigh, she returned to the foot of her Queen's bed. The girls had returned with the supply of water and towels. She sloppily cleaned her hands. They then grasped the white hem of Anne's dress, pulling it up, and bunching it around her hips. The act of exposing her Queen like this seemed horrifying, but with decades of practice on a great many Queen's, it did not seem so horrific.

Hetty could hear the clank of boots outside of the door. The Guards were positioned outside. They would be the first to hear the sex of the Queen's baby, and they would be the one's who would sprint through the halls of the castle to tell the King of his new child.

She pushed her stiff sleeves up to her elbows and peered between Anne's legs. What she saw made the breath in her throat catch acutely. Instead of seeing the crown of a baby's head, she witnessed two small feet peeking from the Queen's opening. A Breach. Hetty had only heard of such things from the others housewives, but had never experienced one before her eyes. She shot her eyes up to look at the Queen. Sweat was dripping down her pale face, hands clutching those of the Ladies'. Her mouth was opened and panting rapidly for air.

Hetty stepped aside, and opened the passage of the doorway. Luckily, the Court doctor was pacing up the hallway, staring intently in Hetty's eyes. She closed the door behind her quietly. She dipped in a curtsy.

"Doctor. There's no time to explain. The child is coming into this world with his feet first. The Queen is losing stamina quickly, and will soon slip out of consciousness."

The Doctor ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. Both his facial expression and eyes fell. His knuckles tightened around the leather bag of supplies he had between his fists. Although his body gave him away, his voice was calm and reassuring. "Remove the Ladies from the room." He said in a low deadly voice, rummaging through his supplies for medicine to numb the Queen's pains.

Hetty nodded, pushing the door open for the last time. "Ladies." She said quickly, inwardly wincing at the state her Queen was now in. Hetty knew immediately upon the Doctor's arrival that she would take the women to the chapel for prayers for her. The Ladies' looked up from their current duties, curtsied in unison, and filed out of the room. Hetty cast one final glance at the writhing Queen, before the Doctor forced the door closed behind him.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Your Majesty," The Doctor, Sir James Bentley, said to the Queen, taking in her condition with one fleeting gaze. Things were not set to end well.

By now, Anne was screaming in agony, not minding if she woke the entire realm in the process. It felt as if every sense in her entire body was being torn open by a sword. Elizabeth's birth had not been nearly this horrendous. She slid her eyes to the doctor who was rifling through a pile of metal tools. Anne did not know this man, though she watched him lazily. He cursed under his breath and dunked a silver knife into the basin one of the mid-wives had brought in. His face was illuminated by the cracking fire. Perspiration soaked hair clung to his forehead, causing him to wipe at it very often. His hands moved steadily, but it was little reassurance to the Queen. Before Anne could see anything else, another pain took control of her stomach, violently shaking it. She moaned, too weary now to scream. Her control over the world was slipping away. Anne felt such weary misery. All she wanted was to rest, however the child had other plans in mind.

The Doctor was at her legs, studying the area between her tensed knees. "May the Lord have Mercy" he muttered, raising the hem of her dress over her belly. The knife's point shimmered against the fire.

"No," Anne pleaded, weakness pulling her voice down to a whisper. _What is he doing with that tool? No, he mustn't intend to cut me with it! Certainly not!_

His eyes connected with the Queen's for a tense moment of understanding and sorrow. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty." He lowered the tip of the instrument to her white skin, and began the incision along her abdomen.

Anne released one last raucous cry from her lungs, and fell into the land of the unconscious.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Sir James Bentley began the tedious operation of removing the child from within the Queen. Delivering the child would surely have kill her, and it was only for the better that she had fainted. This way, she would feel no pain during the birth.

Upon further investigation, the Doctor found the infant had only his toes freed from the womb, making the procedure not so complex. The Doctor swiped his forearm across his brow and sucked in a deep breath. He had to begin the cesarean birth before the Queen stirred. It was only the second unnatural birth he had performed in his four decades of medicine. Nervously, he began slicing and arranging the necessary organs. This intricate operation took nearly three long hours. By the finish, Sir James was sweating like a hog, and glaring at the blazing fire with hatred. The cramped room felt worse than England's warmest summers. To make matters worse, he was fitfully exhausted. Luckily, it did not take him long to find the child inside of Anne was in good order. Large, bloody, and screaming like the devil was over him. Sir James took the light body from its' mother's cave, carefully cutting the umbilical cord in the process. Without taking the time for an intimate moment of marveling at the new child, he cradled the new babe into the crib of damp cloths Hetty had prepared. Bless the woman for her knowledge.

With the freshly delivered babe in shrieking in the background, Sir James stitched up his Queen, weaving the thin black cord in and out of her with skilled, experienced hands. It took no longer than a few moments. Cautiously, he then cleaned Anne with a sopping cloth, and arranged her dress in a decent position.

Before beginning to mix the necessary herbs and medicines for the Queen, the Doctor cleaned the babe with a fresh cloth, clearing away all of the blood and other liquids from its skin. "There you are, Your Highness." He cooed with a grin. The babe's screams quieted to the volume of a mewing kitten.

Sir James smiled with pleasure, proud to have delivered the King a healthy child. His eyes went over the child's features. A shock of black hair upon his head, wide blue eyes, chubby arms, long legs, and. . . "Oh my Lord." He whispered, too shocked to say anything else. The Doctor's eyes widened in amazement and pure, unrestricted joy at what he was seeing.

With the baby still in his arms, Sir James ran to the door. The drooping Guards outside turned to look upon him, surprised to see the baby as well.

"Tell the King our Queen has delivered him a son."

_Author's Note: Yep! A boy. But don't begin to think this is the end of the drama for our Tudors'! More to come, I can assure you._

_I apologize for the rushedness( a word? ) of the birthing scene. I don't know anything about labor and births of that time so I just wanted to get the scene over with._

_I have a follow up chapter to this one but it's a shortie. The King has set off fireworks for the deliverance of his heir and holds a feast in his honor. _

_Thank you for reading!_


	4. Repair

Repair

"What do you mean I cannot see her?" King Henry demanded at the wooden door that his wife was currently behind. Anne had delivered him a perfect heir mere hours ago and consequently made him the happiest man in the entire realm. In fact, he had just removed himself from the Great Hall, the site of the grandest celebration England had ever witnessed, all because of his son. The sounds coming from the feast wound their way through the walls, into Henry's ears: the gentle melodies of the minstrels, merry laughter, footwear tapping against the floors in dance, the acute boom of fireworks outside of the castle's walls. All of these things his wife should rightfully be experiencing. After all, she had provided the reason to celebrate.

"Your Majesty, the Queen is not in a state to be seen," The nervous Doctor responded, avoiding eye contact with the King. He was noticeably angered.

"Move aside!" Henry demanded, not in any patience to listen to the pleas of the Doctor. He pushed past the man blocking his path. The door was slightly ajar when he pushed it open and walked inside. Two of the Queen's favorite Ladies, Lady Eleanor and Lady Jane Grey, were clutching Anne's limp hands, their lips moving in prayer. They both looked up to acknowledge the King in unison, followed by a deep curtsy. "Your Grace."

Henry simply gave them a nod in return. They quickly rustled out of the room at the King's prompting.

"Anne-" He paused as his eyes took in the woman on the bed before him. This was not the Anne he recognized. "Anne?" Henry paced towards her bed, peering upon her face. It was colorless, shiny with perspiration, and lax. The only indication that she was alive at all was her chest rising and falling in rhythm with each passing second. Even the room looked sickly. The fire in the corner crackled weakly, the floors were covered in a coat of dust, and the bed looked as if it was shipped directly out of 550 B.C. It was certainly not a fitting place for his heir to be born. His eyes flashed with a range of various forms of emotion. "What has happened to you?" He questioned to the air, in the softest tone his vocal cords had to offer. His fists were clenched in claws of pain. It was at moments like this he believed God was punishing him for every fault he had ever committed. As much as he was enraptured with Jane, his son needed his God-given mother. Surely without one, he would not grow into the Tudor King he was destined to be.

"Anne, my son needs his mother," Henry spoke once again, knowing his wife would not respond. Her white face remained motionless and grim. Deep in thought, he turned to look out the mangled window of the room. Pink and blue plumes of fireworks sliced through the black sky and shattered with a loud noise. He cast one final look down at the sickly Anne, fervently wishing it was the woman he loved, Jane Seymour, looking up at him with her wide eyes, holding their baby boy. Then his son would have a mother who was truly adored by his father.

Henry strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. His child needed a mother. As much as he wanted it to be Jane, he had to give his son his mother. Every King needed their mother to strongly guide them through life when their father was away.

The Doctor fidgeted as the King stormed past him. "Fix her!" He shouted at him, eyes murky with rage.

_Just a little Henry chapter. Very short, but my next chapter will be much longer, I promise. _

_I realize Anne would not have recovered from that kind of child birth, but this is fiction, lol. _

_Hope you enjoyed, and please, please leave a review!_


	5. Shattered

_After an extended break, a new chapter is up! I'm sorry it's been so long. I had my finals in every class these past two weeks and end of the year dances. Writing had to fall in the background for a bit. :/_

Two days passed. Two long, agonizing days. The Court was as still as its Queen. No one dared host celebrations for the prince, coquetting towards the opposite sex under bright masques, while their Queen lay in her bed clinging onto the thins strings of life. She had given England new life with the birth of her son, and out of respect every subject in the Kingdom clad themselves in their morning clothing.

The King moved throughout the days as if the devil himself were at his heels. He ordered Anne to be moved into the birthing chambers, and to have the room sheltering his son scrubbed three times a day, following every meal. Henry called off all of his hunting arrangements and sent away an Italian horse trainer who had traveled from Milan to deliver a new stallion to the royal stable. The finest seamstresses in all of England, Mrs. Clovelly and Mrs. Simpter, had been sent to sew new clothes of golden thread for the prince, which he had decided to name Edward.

The small sentimental chord within his body stirred when he was forced to name the future King of England alone, without Anne. Early in their marriage and during their passionate courting, they had promised to name their first heir together. Now when he looked into Anne's pale face, relaxed in sleep, he would recall such things about happier times in Court. The quarrels they would have, the way Anne had sensually undressed before him for the first time, and his wild desire for her. With these thoughts galloping across his mind, Henry refused to see Lady Jane Seymour.

Everybody could see the remorse clinging to his body: remorse for the things he had done to the Queen during her pregnancy and after. An hour after the birth of his son, Henry had visited the Queen. He dismissed her as only resting upon seeing her moribund state and found Mistress Seymour, taking her in a room on the floor directly below where his wife lay. Their panting had been muffled only by the walls. Hearing their sounds, every Lady at their Queen's side, dropped their heads and fervently prayed for Anne's health.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"It's been four days now," Madge Shelton whispered to the friends around her, staring at the unfinished sewing in her lap. Each Lady was working on mending a shirt for the poor. It was beginning to seem like their Queen would never see the mended shirts.

Every lady looked at Madge, scandalized by the way she had broken the ominous silence. "You should not speak of such things," Jane Parker whispered from her pinched lips, glaring at Madge.

"Well, what if she doesn't awaken? Four days is a long time!" She replied, her wide brown eyes jumping around the room, searching for a glance of agreement. She couldn't possibly be the only one thinking these things! Instead, she heard a chorus of gasps. "Forgive me," She apologized, bowing her head. Each woman lowered their lashes once again, fingers weaving fine needles through the threads of the tattered shirts. Only Jane Seymour remained with her eyes fixed on Anne. They were glazed and barren, and her fingers were clenched into fists. Madge was the only one to notice her.

None of the Ladies were fond of Jane. They were loyal to their Queen and carried a genuine distaste for all of the King's mistress'. Jane was no different. She was not nasty, cruel, or eaten by ambition to become Queen. More like a beautiful pony who has been pushed and prodded to become a racehorse. It was no secret the Seymour family had shoved Jane into the King's bed, parading her in front of his eye. The Seymour's pushed their prettiest kin into the King's bed at the most vexing time of the current queen's. Perhaps she was barren, or she had lost the King's interest. The Seymour's would know, and alas! A blonde vixen would appear at Court.

Madge softened for a moment, looking at the woman seating at the right hand side of the Queen's bed. Something about her outburst of feeling must have aroused guilt in Jane. Despite herself, Madge believed Jane very pretty with a coat of tears over her eyes. "Mistress Seymour? Are you all right?"

Jane blinked rapidly, caught in a moment of distress. She stabbed her needle into the shirt in her lap and nodded. "Yes, fine, thank you."

Madge sniffed delicately, suffocated by the silence in the room. "Mistress Parker, how do you find your new apartments?"

"Excellently," She answered in her nasally tone. Madge only nodded, unable to carry mindless conversation such as this. Instead, she looked out of the large windows in the birthing chamber. In the courtyard a few gentlemen swung into the saddles of their hunters, and in the castle entry, French emissaries of the French King came bearing gifts and congratulations for the new English prince. Madge sighed. Without their Queen, life at Court was nothing but a bore. The light and excitement she radiated with every toss of her head was replaced by darkness and despair.

_Please, Your Majesty, please wake up. _She prayed.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Perhaps it was the prayers of the people, or the pleadings from Court, but on the fifth day after giving birth to her son, Anne Boleyn opened her eyes.

It was a infinitively slow process. In Anne's mind, a slow flood of light began early in the morning. Though she could not move or talk, she could feel her senses by midmorning. Anne felt the cool moisture of water as the maids of the chambers washed her. She could feel the touches of many people, and the servants part her lips to swab her teeth. By afternoon she felt her mind become more and more alert. Anne was aware of the doctor gently opening her mouth and placing a mixture of porridge and crushed medicines from the apothecary into her mouth and rub her throat until the mound on her tongue slithered into her stomach. As darkness settled over England, Anne felt a large hand squeeze hers, a low, inaudible voice whispering in her ear. She knew the voice. It was speaking of something about French Kings and ponies and Elizabeth. Elizabeth. An image of her strawberry haired daughter playing hide and seek with her in a field surfaced in her mind. It felt as if it had been ages since she had held her baby, her Elizabeth. How she yearned for her!

Anne began to struggle in her thoughts. She screamed at her body from the walls in her mind to awaken. Nothing changed. From her lashes, a tear of sadness and determination leaked and slipped down her cheek. Anne was trapped in a world of surreal memories. The oddest memories at that. Some of them made her writhe with agony. The names she had spat at Henry. The things she had stolen from her sister, both material and sentimental. The agony she had forced so many people through...

"Anne," The voice was so far away. But it was Henry's. Anne called his name in her mind with no expectation of a response. He said her name again, hope spilling over his voice. The blackness in her mind began to clear, and slowly, light blurred her eyes.

Her eyelids fluttered, before snapping open. The dim light of a candle by her bed side stung her eyes. Everything in her body throbbed with fading pain. But she was alive.

A moan escaped her lips as she moved her neck and bended her stiff fingers. Anne shifted and looked about the room, confused and unaware of where she was. Balancing on her elbows, she painfully moved until she was sitting up on a pile of pillows. Subconsciously, she touched her face, feeling the dampness of her tears. Fright encased her. It was the fright of uncertainty and something unfamiliar. Anne could not recall what had happened to her, nor why she felt this way.

"Anne?"

Anne sharply turned to look at the voice. Henry's young, handsome face looked back at her. His blue eyes were shining and unconstrained happiness covered his face. It was the first time she had seen him this way in such a long time... simply seeing him flushed her pain and uncertainty away.

"Oh, Henry! You're here!" She cried, tightening her fingers around his hand, a smile on her lips. Tears were rapidly collecting and falling down her cheeks. She felt like a fool for being so emotional for no reason, but there was no earthly way to stop the tears.

Henry brought her hand to his lips and kissed it roughly, urgently. "Anne, oh God, Anne," He said, staring into her eyes intently. Henry could not believe the miracle that had been bestowed upon him. He had come in his nightshirt to say another hopeless goodnight to his already sleeping wife. When tears had begun to fall from her closed eyelids, he felt the tear ducts in his own eyes sting. He stroked his vanity by telling himself this was only because of his guilt that he was acting like such a woman. Yet, there was no proof he was a woman in the arousal he felt when Anne said his name. She looked unchanged, despite the trial she had endured. Flawless white skin, cheeks reddened by her tears, wide blue eyes, parched, tempting pink lips.

He leaned forward as Anne's face morphed into that of confusion at the passion in his voice and the intensity in his stare. "Anne, you have made me the happiest man in the world."

Anne batted her eyes quickly, unaware of what he spoke of. She peered around the room once again, soaking in its distinguishable features. The birthing chambers. "Have I? Why?" She asked uncertainly, slowly putting the pieces together.

"You have given me a most healthy son. The future King of England." He frowned as the color drained from her face. He did not know it was only in pure pleasure and happiness.

"I am saved." She said in a low voice, falling back against her pillows in disbelief. Henry began to run through a detailed list of events that had happened since her leave of the world, gushing like a child. Anne paid little attention. She was finding her mind again. Everything she had promised herself before slipping under consciousness returned to her mind. Anne had succeeded. Now, she could live in comfort for the rest of her life, knowing she had provided a male heir. It was everything a Queen could want. She laughed at the thought, quietly so Henry would not notice. Comfort at the Tudor court? Never.

"...tonight I shall set off the grandest fireworks and host the largest feast for your awakening." He said, elated. Anne looked at Henry, wondering where the coldness and deference he had treated her with had gone. It was nearly amusing how quickly a son could mend shattered time. Henry may have forgotten or forgiven everything she had done to _him_, but Anne would not die happily until Henry bowed to her feet, sobbing and begging her forgiveness. Forgiveness for making a fool out of her in her own Court by openly chasing after Jane Seymour, and causing her endless sickness and fear. Anne wanted him wound around her finger, and at her every beck and call. She looked into his face, how childishly excited it was and flashed her practiced, radiant smile. For her clever mind it would be simple. However, at the moment all Anne wanted was a hot meal and some rest.

_I hoped you like it! I have so much inspiration for the next few chapters, so they will come quickly. Anne is a bit fiery: beware. I really tried to take some time with this chapter and not rush it. The section with Madge Shelton(Thanks VintageLyre for the historical assistance!) is a bit random. I just had a few thoughts about Jane I wanted to throw in this chapter. _

_Thanks for reading and reviewing(because I'm sure you will :D)! _


	6. Black Horses

The italicized area is just an intro into this chapter.

I hope you LOVE this chapter.

_As spring took its leave, the Court made its summer progress to Henry's favorite palace, Greenwich. The ride was trying. The paths were in terrible disrepair, yet the Court arrived exactly on schedule. Greenwich was a splendid building, but every poet called it a work of art. It was made of spotless white marble. The palace was very large, with picturesque bridle paths leading off of the estate. Every courtier loved moving to Greenwich in the summer, for it always brought good cheer and great health. _

With the changing seasons, came a steady incline in Anne's health. Rest healed her body as nothing else could; aside from holding her new, beautiful son in her arms. Anne spent countless hours in her new bed in Greenwich, rocking the golden prince back and forth, staring into his blemish free face. She even took to sending away audiences with the King or her family to spending time with her child. The first time a wet nurse had placed Edward into her arms, Anne had wept like a fool. Wept for the realization of her greatest dream. He was a flesh and bone person, alive with a soul. And one day, he would become the King of England.

Although strength began to fill her body once again, a large scar marred her snow white flesh. The scar of her birth. The constant reminder of the smiling knife tip slicing through her perfect skin to deliver an heir into the world. No amount of leeching and poultices could make it disappear. Anne hated the jagged red line, but knew it was worth having a son such as Edward.

"It makes me look like an animal," She fretted to her mother, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror.

"Nobody will see it under your laces," came the reply. Anne's mother shoved a new corset into Anne's hands, bidding her to try it on. They had received so many gifts from both the King, and admiring countries, the whalebone corset one of the many.

"Yes Mother, but do you not think the King would like to peek under my laces?" Anne said with a twitch of a smile, shoving her abdomen into the stiff cage of the corset.

"Don't be difficult Anne! He won't lay with you anymore and you know that." Her mother stared back over her daughter's shoulder as her fingers began to weave the laces through their designated slots, meeting Anne's gaze in the mirror. She never stopped believing her daughter was the spitting image of herself, despite her aging. "He grew tired of you long ago. Now Henry pants after that pretty Seymour girl like a stallion after..."

Anne whipped around, tearing the corset from her bare stomach. Anger swirled through her blood like wild fire, simply at the mention of the name 'Seymour'. Her eyes blazed with passionate hatred, directed towards her mother. She loathed it when her family made metaphors to how passionate the King was towards Jane Seymour. It sent her muscles stiff with longing to wring their necks, or send them to the Tower. "How dare you mention that-that _whore's_ name in my presence?" Anne made a threatening step towards her mother. The confident mask she had worn while taunting her daughter had melted away, replaced now by fear of a powerful Queen. " You may leave," She spat, turning back to the mirror to try on an emerald green bonnet from the King of Germany, one she had been yearning to try all morning.

Elizabeth Howard had never been so frightened of her kin in all of her life. Her daughter's tempers could be so flaring and ugly, but they had never had the ability to make her heart race before. Her brother's could be intimidating in their most ambitious moods, but never like this. She sank into a trembling curtsy, rushing for the door.

"Mother?" Anne called without turning, posing with the hat.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Anne turned with a half-smile on her lips, an exotic bonnet placed among her tumbling black hair. "I'll win him back. Am I not a Howard, after all?" Her mother looked perplexed at Anne's sudden demeanor change. Anne only laughed, her tinkling, condescending laugh. "Oh, leave me mother. You are twice the fool Will Somers* is."

The two Howard woman stared at each other for two electric moments. Anne had a perfect black brow arched, crystalline gaze glinting with victory and confidence. Elizabeth Howard stood with crushed dignity, searing humiliation burning behind her own. She longed to swing at her daughter's precious face, shatter it into a million pieces.

"Your Majesty." Her voice shook, as she shuffled out of the room, a silent prayer relaying over and over in her mind. _My daughter is possessed by the devil, oh God, please save her before she is discovered._

As she slinked from the room, Anne put the situation from her mind. Thinking about her mother, brother, or any other member of the Howard's cut her nerves very short. At the present time, she was preparing for a meeting with an Italian horse trainer that was sent to bring new hunters for the royal stable. On the day after Edward's birth, over three weeks ago, he had been turned away. But now that the court was in complete order once again, he was ordered to return. Seeing as it had been four days since last holding an audience with her husband, Anne chose to surprise him by meeting him at the livery to help select the right beasts.

Anne called Lady Parker in to finish helping with her laces and selecting a gown.

"Not so tight, Jane. My belly still hurts tremendously," She winced as the strings were jerked and adjusted to shrink her already small waist.

"I apologize, Your Grace. Does anything else still cause you pain?" Jane said softly as she slackened the laces.

"No, just where the scar lines my skin. Time has healed the pain," Anne sucked in a sharp breath as another string was pulled in. She exhaled very slowly, clenching her eyes. As Jane Parker finished tying the fresh white strings, a new challenge arose. The difficult process of selecting a gown.

"Which gown does Your Majesty wish to wear?"

"Nothing modest will suit me today, Lady Jane." Anne said, stroking and skimming through each new gift and gown. Most were beautiful, rich in color and expense. But one stuck out in particular. It was an ivory white gown with a stiff green petticoat. The stomacher was encrusted with small emeralds cut into spheres. Immediately, Anne thought of the pretty green bonnet resting on her skull. "Help me into this one, please,"

Jane nodded and wrestled the thick gown over the Queen's silken hair, pulling and straightening the garment. Both turned their eyes to the mirror in unison, feasting on the sight of the enchanting woman standing before them. She was clad entirely in emerald and ivory. It was a breathtaking sight.

"Jane, darling, would you fetch my white riding gloves and a cloak?" She said slowly, running her fingers over her chest, brushing the tops of her breasts. _How can he resist me today? _Anne questioned herself, knowing how her mind would retort. _Well he's resisted you every other day this spring._

Quick final touches were made to her attire: smooth gloves, a cloak thrown over the shoulders, a white lily left from May Day pinned in the hair, and a quick dab of perfumed water behind the ears.

"Do I look fit for a King?" Anne asked wistfully, stroking her hair in the mirror.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

To her own surprise, Anne was nervous as she walked with her Ladies and courtiers by her side, down to the stables. She had not spoken to her husband in such a long time. Her excuse for this was that after the strenuous trip to Greenwich, she needed her rest and requested her meals in her own bed chamber, alone. The King had been gracious during the weeks after her delivery, but he still showed nothing more than spousal respect towards her. Had the rivet in their contact created a rift between them?

Anne folded both hands and touched them to her stomach, creating a serene picture of grace and calm.

"Nan, could you take my cloak?" She paused for a moment, shrugging the thick silk coat. "I tend to forget it is no longer winter!" A courteous ripple of laughter echoed through the small group as the cloak was placed in the woman's arms. They continued forward, all of the Ladies' small feet gently crunching on the gravel path.

The stable was a large wooden building. Windows intermittently poked through the wood, as well as doors into the paddock. On the opposite side of the great building was an old, poky shed, which contained all of the royal tack and equipment. Currently, the paddock held large quantities of horses in all different sizes and shapes, bucking and galloping with summer fever. In the front of the stable stood six magnificent animals, all strong and large. They were obviously the imported, Italian horses. A great wave of compliments arose from the Ladies, who had a fond spot for horses.

The grooms holding the animals were being barked at in Italian by the foreign trainer. Anne ignored the small man, and searched for Henry. She found him evaluating a chestnut, with a little gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. Anne perked at the sight, impatiently waving for her Ladies to follow. She rushed forward, nodding her head towards the courtiers watching the equine sale who bowed. The Italian trainer, unfortunately, caught sight of Anne too quickly for her to ambush Henry.

"Your Majesty!" He cried enthusiastically, his accent foreign to Anne's ears. She knew very little Italian. He rushed forward to bow and kiss her hand. The man was charming in his energy.

Anne forced a gracious smile. "Welcome to Court, Signor-" She paused, racking her mind for the name. Oh no! Her father had told her the Italian man's name. It was something ... Italian. Madge mouthed the name of the trainer as inconspicuously as she could. "Signor Bertelli!" Anne smiled to cover her blunder. We are very pleased to have you among our realm." She quickly swept a gaze over the prancing horses. "You have brought a fine selection. I am sure the King will be pleased,"

"_Si, _I have bred these Italian brutes to become English gentleman!" All laughed at the jest towards Italy, taking silent pride in their own country. Anne politely joined in on the laughter, flicking her eyes to the side as she caught movement. Expecting it to be the King, Anne seductively peered from her lashes, her lips curving back to show a smile. Indeed, it was the King. With a very red lipped, breathless Jane Seymour at his side. Anne's charming facade fell away to a scowl.

"Your Majesty," She said coldly, lifting the folds of her gown in a curtsy. Henry raked in the sight of her stunning appearance, but Anne did not notice nor care with that leech by his side. "Mistress Seymour." Anne left a special emphasis on the _Mistress_, for Jane and Henry to decipher.

"Your Majesty," They chirped together. Henry's face darkened slightly as he noticed Anne's frigid stare towards Jane.

"Signor Bertelli, may I present Queen Anne, my wife." Henry said, slightly perplexed. She had not mentioned to him she would be coming down for the trainer today. He was caught quite off guard, though he could hardly take his eyes off _of_ his wife. She was dressed in clothes he had never witnessed. Her hair was rarely ever unconstrained with a pin or crown, and he adored her silky locks when they were free to cascade over her back. "Anne, what an... unexpected surprise to see you here. Have you rested well?"

"Quite well, thank you." She said, her voice detached. Though she would never admit it, Anne was jealous of Jane's precious position at her husband's arm. She missed nothing. Anne watched as Henry pinched Jane's fingers, flashing her an apologetic smile. Apologetic for having his wife come into their romantic, horsey tryst. "Are you looking for a horse, Lady Jane?" Anne had to keep her voice carefully cool.

Jane cast her eyes down in that demure innocent way she could. "Yes, Your Majesty. The King wished to find me a hunter after mine tore a fetlock,"

Anne nodded, raising her head with pride. It was clear her pretty palomino was not injured by the way he was frolicking in the pasture at their side. Jane Seymour must have thought the Queen a fool to believe she would not know which hunter was her's after seeing her riding it with the King so often.

"Your Majesty, which beast suits your fancy?" The Signor awkwardly cut in on the conversation, roughly patting a mare upon her neck.

The King removed himself from Jane's side and walked in front of the line of horses, scrutinizing each one. He had seen enough hunters in his lifetime to know which were the best. Henry halted in front of a black mare, taking a look into her eyes. They swiveled to him, her nose flaring in and out. "Tell me about this one." He demanded, interested by the beasts attentive demeanor.

"Oh, _si_, this horse is excellent. She is not only beautiful, but will jump absolutely anything you put in front of her nose."

"Than why has she not been purchased?" Anne questioned, walking towards the animal to stroke her fine coat. She always hastened to be by the King's side when Jane was not.

"Your Majesty, she has not been tamed." Henry nodded dismissively and moved down the line, stroking each horse very slowly. As much as the mare would a credit to the beauty in his stable, he could not have a wild horse in the barn. Anne watched him as he watched the horses, one of her brows raised in curiosity.

Jane Seymour stepped forward as a smaller bay horse reached his nose forward to her arms. She giggled as his tongue tickled her hand. Henry smiled and went to her side, looking at the horse that amused Jane.

"You like this one?" He asked, his face alight with desire as the horse pushed his nose against her chest.

"No, Your Majesty, I insist on you not purchasing me a horse. Mine will heal, I promise!" She turned her eyes up to him and smiled. "But this might be the right horse for you. It has a very sweet face."

The King smiled, and leaned forward, his mouth next to her ear. Anne nearly screamed at how intimate a moment this was. "If you wish it, this horse will be mine."

"I disagree!" Anne cried out on a sudden, breathless whim. The sight of them so closely together sent her fuming.

Alarmed, Henry looked up at Anne. His face betrayed no anger of any sort, but rather confusion. "Oh? And which do you suggest?"

Anne turned her head sideways to look at him, her cheeks flushed with color at her sudden anger. She flashed a mischievous smile. "The black one."

Henry strode towards her, arriving at the side of the mare. He looked at her as if she were half-insane. "But she's not tamed. The bay is a better selection." His eyes strayed toward Jane, who was stroking the animal's brown fur and looking at the King and Queen.

Anne took a step closer to Henry, feeling their bodies pressed together. She dropped her voice to an almost unheard volume. Henry almost recoiled, but couldn't move away from her soft body. Her white and green gown was tight around her slim waist, pushing her breasts upward. She was the picture of desire. "A sweet, pretty face won't win you the hunt, Henry. You need the horse that will jump anything for you, that will take you the extra mile." For a moment, their eyes eyes locked. They both instantly knew Anne was not speaking of horses, but of herself and Jane. Henry looked at Anne profoundly, tilting his head to the side. For an awful moment, Anne believed Henry would push her away in anger or run back to his pretty blond mistress. Surprisingly, his hand caressed her cheek. His eyes were moving over her face, soaking in every feature. Anne smiled her dazzling, French smile. She took his hand away from her skin, delighted by the way his face fell in disappointment. "Choose the right horse." She purred, batting her lashes. Before Henry could shoot back a reply, Anne turned with a swish of her gown. She bid farewell to Signor Bertelli and the courtiers, and moved off with her Ladies. Anne placed a hand over her stomacher as she walked up the gentle incline back to the palace. She was breathless with victory.

Henry watched as his wife disappeared into the palace. He could not believe what had just transpired between them. Her actions never seized to surprise him. Anne Boleyn was never a dull woman, he would grant her that.

Blowing the air from his cheeks, Henry ran a hand through his hair.

"Your Majesty?" Jane called, concern glowing behind her eyes.

"Have you decided, Jane?" He called in a voice filled with cheer he did not feel. Jane laughed at his persistence, shaking her head stubbornly. Henry was barely listening as the trainer went into a long monologue for each animal. He glanced from his hand that touched Anne's cheek, to the palace where she was moving inside.

"The black one," Henry said, staring at the restless mare. "I want her."

*The King's Fool.

_I LOVED writing this chapter! I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it._

_It might be a tad rushed but I'm satisfied for now. Normally, I'm a rushaphobe. xD_

_About Senior Bertelli, he is entirely fictional. I don't know how to put one of those squiggly little lines over the N in 'Senior', so I hope it was not confusing to anyone. _

_I'll edit this chapter if any errors come to my mind._

_Okay, you're automatically amazing if you review this chapter. :D_


	7. The Hunt, Part A

_Since the chapter ended up becoming two separate events in the plot, I'm splitting it in two parts. This will be part A, the next chapter will be part B. _

_I hope you enjoy! :D_

Anne Boleyn smiled. Edward gurgled in her arms, pounding his small fists together. They were in the nursery, standing next to Edward's newest cradle. It was just after midday meal so the servants surrounded every wall, scrubbing and cleaning.

"The love I bid you is so great, Edward," She whispered, running a gentle hand over his soft hair. Edward writhed in his mother's arms, turning his head to the side. "How does he feed, Berta?" Anne asked the wet nurse without tearing her eyes from her son.

"Very well, Your Majesty. He's as hungry and healthy a baby I've ever seen!" said Berta, gazing at the Queen and the Prince. Queen Anne was glowing with happiness when she was with her son. In the past week she had taken to visiting Edward at least twice a day.

"I'm glad for that. Edward will be a strong King," She paused with a brief sigh. Today her visit with her son would have to be shortened considerably. The King had called for a large hunt because one of his grooms proclaimed seeing a family of foxes scampering about the woodlands. Henry hated missing one of the 'red monster's' as he called them. He loved hunting any animal that populated his forests: foxes, deers, birds, anything. Then, in the evening she had to meet with the master of revels to plan a dance for a masque that had been arranged for the radiant summer weather. She really should not stay too much longer. "Take him please, Berta. I must be off."

Anne planted one last kiss on her son's forehead before handing his small body over to the servant. Berta dipped into a curtsy. "Your Majesty." Anne gathered her skirts and left the room before she would become emotional and fawn over her child for another twenty minutes. The servants hurried to bow and curtsy, dropping their soapy brushes on the ground. Anne nodded her head to them and grinned, taking her slowest, most graceful steps. The two maid servants waiting at the end of the nursery for their Queen bowed, ready to escort her back to her chamber to dress for the hunt. Anne smiled, commanding them to follow behind her.

As she entered the castle's main corridor, two of her Ladies came rushing to her side, already in their riding habits. "Why, Nan!" Anne called, astounded by the beauty of her friend. Nan's habit was the brightest of blues, with a black bonnet sitting atop her head. The bonnet had a long red plume and a black veil to frame her face. On her small hands were velvet, black gloves. "You look beautiful," Anne added, a trifle less vigorously. Should the King see Nan, who knew what he might... do with her.

"Your Majesty," Nan said with a modest giggle. Lady Eleanor was at her side, wearing a traditional black habit. It made her honey colored hair look wonderful.

"You look pretty as well, Lady Eleanor," Anne said.

"Your Majesty is too kind," Eleanor said, lowering into a curtsy, casting a sideways glance towards Nan. Anne raised a brow, knowing they had come to find her and deliver some sort of news. Nan awkwardly touched her bonnet and cleared her throat.

"You Majesty, Lady Eleanor and I have come from the royal stables, looking for you,"

Anne looked at them both with concern. "Yes, is something the matter?"

"No, no! Everything is perfectly fine," Eleanor exclaimed.

"Then what is it?" She questioned slightly irritably. Anne cast a look about the vacant corridor. It was normally bustling with life, but when a hunt arose, all courtiers flocked to the stables to find their mount for the day.

"A Groom asked us to inquire after which horse you would be riding?" Nan said.

Anne smiled. "Is that all?" As the Queen, she had the pick of the royal stable, after the King, of course. "How about my mare, Renee?"

"That's the problem, Your Grace," Eleanor's voice became slightly nervous. "Renee is with foal again-" Anne opened her mouth to interject another suggestion for her gelding, but Eleanor continued. "- and your gelding, Costello, has an injured bone."

"Is that so?" Anne asked thoughtfully, running over a list of the other animals in the stable she had ever ridden. A few moments of heavy silence passed, while Anne considered all of the horses.

"Your Majesty, may I make a suggestion?" Nan asked timidly.

"Yes, of course,"

"Well, if I do recall correctly, the King purchased a new black mare last week," She paused, a scandalous smirk forming on her lips. "One that _you_ suggested he buy."

"That horse isn't tame, don't be-" Anne paused, her face freezing quickly. That black mare! How could she have forgotten? "Nan, you clever, clever girl! Oh, what a perfect idea!" Her eyes lit like a fire. "Eleanor, go alert that groom I will be riding the black mare... I believe the King named her- oh, what was it? Emma? No. Raven? Raven! Tell the groom I will be riding Raven, please." Eleanor dipped her head and moved off down the hall, the heels of her riding boots clacking against the cobble stones.

"Nan, come help me dress," Anne was too excited to contain her happiness. She took Nan's elbow, leading them both off down the hall, their heads bent, voices whispering of a riding habit that would match well with black. The two maid servants followed them down the corridor, watching the excited nobles rush down the hallway, giggling and planning like two girls.

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The Queen and her Lady had to hurry to dress. The hunt was set to begin in a mere two hours. With such little time to prepare, all four women in the Queen's chamber began to look through the closet holding riding habits voraciously. One pretty outfit would be found, tried on the Queen, and rejected. After only ten moments there was already a large pile of discarded clothing on the floor, which the maid's were hurrying to collect and fold once again.

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"Where is she?" The King questioned to nobody in particular, pacing with little limp in front of his mount. The entire ensemble of his favorite courtiers were prepared for the ride. Their horses were groomed and tacked, their riding habits brushed and clean. Now they awaited their Queen.

Henry looked towards Anne's horse. The black mare was prancing and tossing her skull in impatience, giving the groom who held her quite a time. Though the mare was stunning, it was wild. Henry doubted it would last more than two months in the stable royal.

When Henry turned back to look at the path where Anne would be making her descent, she was there. Her dark hair was swept up underneath a bonnet. Her habit was made from a bolt of scarlet fabric, and it was cut in a most becoming French style. The male courtiers could not take their eyes from their Queen. Neither could Henry.

Anne took the smallest of strides, aware every pair of eyes were upon her. She demurely cast her eyes down as she walked, a grin resting on her lips. Anne never failed to enjoy the attention of a Queen. As the Queen of England, arriving to functions late always had its advantages. The entire group of riders fell into an awed quiet.

"Ladies and Gentleman, the Queen finally decides to grant us with her presence!" Henry broke the pregnant silence with a hearty joke, followed by his boisterous laughter. Today he was in a bawdy temperament and did not mind the tardy arrival of his wife. All of the ladies began clucking amongst themselves, admiring the Queen's attire, but pondering why it was not a beautiful English habit.

"Your Majesty," Anne said tersely, disliking the way Henry announced her arrival. "We have a beautiful day for a hunt!" She said to all of the courtiers who nodded their heads in agreement.

"Shall we all mount now that our fair Queen has arrived?" The King questioned, his gaze sweeping over every curve and ripple of Anne's body. All of the courtiers were weary of waiting in the warm sun and they all cried out in agreement. Henry permitted everyone to mount their horses, glancing back at Anne who was now evaluating her own steed.

Raven was bouncing on her hooves, craning her elegant neck, chomping on the metal bit in between her teeth. Anne swallowed, casting a pleading glance towards the groom. His ragged eyes could not meet hers, seeing as Raven was rubbing her nose against his arm. From behind her, Anne could hear Henry's laughter.

She turned, placing both of her shaking hands on her hips. "Is there something amusing, Your Majesty?" She questioned irritably. His chuckling continued as he walked to her side.

"You're going to ride that horse?" He asked in a cautious undertone, aware of her temper. Anne could not think of a witty reply to shoot back to him.

"Yes," She said stubbornly, looking at the beast with white-faced endurance.

"Then kiss me before it breaks you." Henry demanded, his hard arms slipping around her torso. Anne struggled for a moment, self-consciously looking around the courtiers. Before she pushed the King away, Anne realized she wanted all of them to see. She wanted them to know their Queen still had their King's heart.

"No. You deserve no kiss," She stated squarely, pouting her lips only to tempt him. The adrenaline was running through her veins wildly, making every limb in her body go limp. Henry pulled her closer to his chest, his sharp blue gaze staring into hers. The erotic scent of his lips mingled with her nose. Briefly, Anne closed her eyes.

Henry cupped her chin, pulling her eyes up to look at him. "I don't recall asking." He whispered throatily, lowering his face towards her, pushing his lips against her mouth deeply.

Anne leaned into the kiss, unable to resist. Warmth flooded her body as quickly as wine. Her limp body fell into Henry's arms, maddening him with desire. Anne missed being held. Missed having the worry of standing on her own lifted from her shoulders.

But she only let the kiss last for a moment, remembering the kind of restrictions she had on her love for Henry.

Anne jerked her lips away from his. They were bright red with the kiss. Henry was breathless when she broke away from him. Anger and annoyance shimmered behind his eyes. He leaned forward again, prepared to devour her lips once more. Anne shook her head, placing a finger against his lips. She remained charmingly breathless.

"Sweetheart," Henry purred, his voice almost brimming with laughter. It felt like he was going insane with desire, causing him to chuckle at the irony of her refusal.

Anne almost laughed as well, but for an entirely different reason. So now she suddenly his 'sweetheart' again? Hadn't Henry learned Anne was more erudite than that?

"Would you help me onto my horse, dear? I don't want to make our court wait any longer," Anne shot him a swift malicious glance, knowing the lust she was depriving him. Henry raised a brow, knowing full well the game his wife was choosing to play.

Anne placed a boot in the stirrup of her saddle and lightly swung herself into her royal tack, settling the folds of her riding habit around her hips. A moment of silence passed while Anne adjusted herself in the saddle. But while Henry was positioning Anne's foot in her stirrup, his hand found its way underneath her petticoats, stroking the smooth skin of her calf. Anne locked her eyes with him, shocked at his fondling. He smiled, not fazed, but aware of her discomfort. Quickly, Anne took her reins in her gloved hands. She cast a poisonousness, yet seductive glance down at Henry.

Thankfully, the dancing Raven pulled the Queen away from the King. The mare snorted loudly, wheeling away from the King's side, pulling his eager fingers out from under her rider's skirt's. The King swept into a bow to the Queen, staring up at her with fascination as she wrangled with her mare. He then called out something inaudible to the courtiers, mounted his horse, and spurred it off into a lively trot.

Anne struggled with Raven for a few long moments. The mare pranced and wriggled underneath Anne's hands, but finally after some soothing words and a few irritated kicks in the side, they caught up with the King, trotting quickly, setting a pace for the group of hunters. Even the King's hunter had trouble keeping up with the mare at his side.

Anne had an odd feeling mixed within her stomach. It was the residue of adrenaline stirring in her veins, intense fear of the horse she was riding, and perhaps the medicine she had taken this morning for her body which was still recovering from a cesarean birth.

She tried to swipe in a quick glance at the King, but accidentally met his gaze. Anne gleamed at him, trying not to focus on the way Raven was tossing her head. Henry flashed his most engaging smile. . Still, Anne sat with a confident poise despite the breakneck trot she was sitting through.

The group traveled over a well worn path in the woodland, admiring the bright color of the foliage and the good weather they were blessed with. Everyone inquired about the new horse Anne was riding and she responded to their questions as best she could, refusing to let them know she was unbroken.

Then came the dreaded word Anne knew would be coming.

"FOX!" George Boleyn called through the silent forest. Anne should have been proud it was her brother that was the first to initiate the hunt. Instead, she was terrified.

All of the hunters knew what that word meant. It was synonymous with; run! All at once, nearly thirty horses broke into a thundering gallop, hooves splashing up mud and tearing through grass. Of course, young Raven did not know this secret code.

Anne and her mount soon became left behind. "Oh no," Anne moaned knowing her horse would not fare well on its own. Raven was a herd animal. Seeing her entire species flee frightened her. She began to arch her neck once again, her muscles tightening. Anne jerked on her mouth, which made the animal raise its front legs and rear. Anne nearly yelped, merely clinging on to the black threads of Raven's mane for her life. When Raven's hooves hit the ground once again, she took off running after her comrades, her long legs covering the ground with ease. Anne was not in such good shape. She was tugging on Raven's reins, barely staying in the saddle. The only thing keeping her there was a fold of her dress firmly tucked underneath it.

"Stop!" She shrieked, too frightened to use any of the skills in horsemanship she learned as a young girl. Raven simply ignored the Queen. Her head bobbed up and down in front of Anne's eyes. The horse was learning to ignore her rider's commands quickly. She was on a mission to find the rest of her herd and nothing would stop her.

The animal's lithe black body weaved in and out of trees, not bothering to stay on a worn path. When a fallen tree or log presented itself in front of her, Raven would simply lengthen her stride, gather herself, lift her legs, push off the ground with all of her power, soar over the obstacle, and resume her gallop on the other side. The size of the obstacle rarely mattered to her.

As moment after moment of panic passed, and Anne remained on the mare's back, the panic subsided. She slowly began regaining her composure. Her back straightened, her hands tightened around the reins, her legs gripped more closely to Raven's black fur. With an established sense of balance, the ride soon began to feel less terrorizing. Anne could now guide the mare back onto the nearest path and look at her surroundings.

In the far distance, Anne could spot the group of hunters. She saw all of the horses, their multicolored tails streaming out like banners behind their racing bodies. Raven saw them as well. She let out a great whinny and extended her neck, increasing her speed to catch them all. Anne quickly tried to pull her down into a more elegant pace but Raven would have none of it. She charged right into the pack of animals, thundering past them all, swerving out of the way of any horses blocking her path.

Raven picked her way to the front of the pack. Her black neck was soaked in sweat, yet she pressed on, snorting and gasping for air. She fell back into stride with the King's hunter. In the heat of the hunt, he had not even noticed she was missing.

"Right!" Henry called, his eyes intensely focused on the fox, darting in and out of bushes. He steered his massive horse in the path of the animal. The red tail disappeared under a large hedge, tall with uncut limbs. All of the horses would have to take the jump.

Anne felt Raven's haunches bunch up beneath her and her torso stretch out as she soared over the jump, hit the ground and pounded into her fastest gallop on the other side. Anne had barely moved.

The fox took them through many turns and dangerous paths, and over the journey, Anne began to loosen. She even laughed as the horses had to plod through a great river. Raven's ears went back anytime Anne made a sound.

Among the many shelters and holes in the forest, the sight of the fox soon drifted away, and the King announced all of the horses were to have a rest. Raven was so exhausted she did not fight being slowed to a walk. She hung her defined black head as Anne allowed her to walk, taking lazy, reluctant steps. Anne was rather tired herself. She remained in a straight riding position, flexing her sore fingers slowly. Every muscle in her body screamed in pain.

"What happened to your hat?" The King asked, out of breath himself. Anne furrowed her brows in confusion. Slowly, she touched her scalp. Oh, no! Her bonnet must have tumbled off! Even the pins holding her hair up had loosened, allowing her hair to flow over her shoulders. Her cheeks were stained red with the exhilaration of the hunt.

"It's left a long while ago," She smiled with guile, trying to suppress her pain. Anne wished she had not worn a corset to ride this horse. Her back was stiff and uncomfortable, her breaths shortened by the tight laces. Anne hoped Henry was appreciating her figure, because it was causing her so much discomfort.

After the short rest, the King resumed the ride, however its destination was set back to the stables. The fox was long gone by now.

He set the pace at an easy canter, taking the courtiers along a riverside, the horse's hooves disturbing the still waters. All of the riders were carrying on short conversations with the people around them, relaxing on their steady horses. The ride was uneventful, until a large obstacle interrupted their path. It was an enormous gate leading into one of Greenwich's pastures. All of the horses paused at its front, shaking their heads and bouncing from hoof to hoof.

"It seems we have a problem," The King muttered, shaking the fence. It did not budge. The lock to open it was on the opposite side. He sighed, looking at all of the weary faces around him. Henry did not want to lead them back to the palace on a kilometer long path. If they cut through this pasture it was a short trot home. Home to a warm dinner and bed. The sun was already retiring from the sky, sinking lower and lower below England's green hills. If somebody would get their horse over the gate to unlock the lock, they could return home in mere moments. A fleeting idea came to his mind. He spun his stallion around to address the group. "The man who can jump this gate and unlock it on the other side will earn a great prize and gratitude from his King," He looked from man to man. There was an athletic group of courtiers with him today. "Do I have takers?" A chorus of voices arose from the crowd. "Move to the side!" Henry demanded, backing his own horse to the side of the path, clearing the way for any of the men who were willing to attempt the gate.

Anne backed Raven alongside the King. Her head hung parallel to her shoulders. The poor animal was beaten. "There, there." Anne cooed, patted her damp neck.

The first challenger trotted to the center of the path. He bowed in his saddle and took off at a gallop, urging his horse forward with great thumps of his spurs, but at the base of the jump the horse threw up his head and refused, digging his hooves into the ground. Rider after rider came and experienced the same fate. Some even fell from the saddle, and rose from the ground, humiliated. Anne watched painfully, wondering why none of these horses had the vigor or bravery to leap the gate. _This mare will jump anything. _The Signore's words reverberated in Anne's mind. The sun dipped further below the skyline with each passing moment. _We will never return home at this rate. _At the moment, all Anne wanted was to be in her warm, carved bed and lift the intense fatigue she felt from her mind.

She looked over at Henry who was getting great amusement out of the failed trials of the hunters. Suddenly, her fingers tightened about Raven's reins. The horse picked up her head and pricked up hers forward with alert.

"Must it be a man who jumps this gate?" She questioned Henry in a low voice. He turned to look at her as if she were insane. Then, he laughed.

"Are you suggesting you would like to jump this fence?" He asked through his amusement. "Don't trouble yourself and break your pretty neck." His voice was laced with just enough mockery to drive her to actually jump the fence.

Anne scowled inwardly, placing an acrid smile on her lips. She was infuriated by the way he undermined her strength and intelligence. Though she would never say so out loud, Anne believed intelligent women such as herself could be equals to men.

Without hesitation, Anne thrust her heels into Raven's ribcage and urged her forward. Before she could make any foolish decisions, George stepped his horse in front of her way, staring at her sharply. Anne halted Raven.

"Your Majesty, do you mind if I take a go at this fence?" He said, tightening the reins he held in his fingers. Anne pulled Raven back to the side of the path, silently thanking George. She had been seconds away from shooting Raven into a gallop and jumping the gate, but that would have only embarrassed the men who could not clear it. George had saved her seemlessly.

She watched as George's hunter pounded into a forward canter with George kicking his heels into the animal's side. The horse eyed the fence warily, but at the base of the jump made a powerful leap, clearing the top of the fence with inches to spare.

All of the courtier's exploded in applause, relieved as George unlatched the gate and pushed it open. They all yearned to be home. Everybody spurred their horses into a trot, congratulating George as they passed him. Some of the courtiers even urged their horses into a canter, racing one another to be the first back to the stables.

Anne walked Raven forward, grinning at her brother. "You are quite the horseman, George."

"I wouldn't be if my sister weren't so foolish," George said, looking at Anne sternly. They were the last walking across the pastures, their horses moving in sync. "Don't think I didn't see the way you were looking at that gate."

"Thank you, George," Anne said with complete gratitude, thanking him for stepping in the way of her path and making a foolish choice. She was not going to make any clever quips now. George smiled, looking out over the vast green fields.

"How about we test my horsemanship? Will you race me back to the stable, my Queen?" He asked, kicking his boots into his horse's side. Anne laughed, shaking her head and urging Raven forward.

"Alright, George, I only hope my dust won't sting your eyes!" She teased, galloping through the dusk back to Greenwich.

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After everyone had their horses returned to the royal stable, they assembled in the Great Hall for a large dinner. Anne sat at the right of the King, with George on his left. Clearing the gate earned him the title of 'Master of the Hunt'. All of the courtier's ate their meals quickly, hardly speaking to one another at all. In fact, Anne and Henry spoke no more than ten words to the other over the course of the entire meal. It was such a rare occasion for the King and Queen to eat with all of Court and nobody seemed to notice or care. They wanted food in their stomach's and a warm bed.

As everybody finished the final course of the meal, the men separated from the women to go back to the King's chamber for card games and wine.

Anne and her closest ladies-in-waiting returned to her bed chamber for undressing and sleep. The ladies pried off Anne's soiled riding habit and began to loosen and untie her laces, when George rushed into her room.

"Anne, we must speak," He ordered stoutly, pulling her off the the side without a word to the ladies. Anne stood half exposed and embarrassed in front of her brother.

"Good God, George, what is it?"

"The King demands to see you in his chamber," George began looking over the room for a cloak, finding a black one with an ermine hood draped over a chair. He grabbed it and shoved it into his sister's hands. "At once," He whispered, careful that the ladies would not hear the urgency in his voice. It was a matter of absolute importance that the Queen was wanted in the King's bed for the Howards. He did not want any Seymour girl finding out about it.

Anne shrugged on the cloak, pulling it tightly around her body. There was a tacit understanding between herself and George that the ladies in the room could not know about this. She looked at her ladies who pretended to busy themselves with some other task to look inconspicuous. "Ladies, I must go to my daughter, she is upset. You may retire for the evening. If I need anything, I shall call." They all swept into a curtsy and left the room with a swish of their clothing.

She was confused as to why the King was calling for her. As George hurried her down the hallway towards the King's room, she questioned him. He apparently knew as little as she did.

_**Pause.**_

_Part B will come soon, I promise! I actually ended up liking this chapter and the chapter following it. I know it's not likely that the Court would eat dinner in their riding habits, but I didn't want to have them all go back to their chamber's to change or anything. :D_

_The next chapter is entitled: The King's Chamber. _

_Hehe, I don't want to give too much away about it. _

_Anyway, please review!_


	8. Electricity May Hurt

**Play**

"George! There's no need to shove," Anne hissed as her brother herded her down the hall like a dog after a sheep. George made no reply. His determined facial expression did not even waver.

After a combative trip down the hall between Anne and George, they arrived at the King's door. The confidence and excitement that had galloped through Anne while thinking of being invited into Henry's bedroom left her. Wide-eyed, she turned to George. She realized quickly that she did not know how to act when she didn't know why Henry was asking for her. If he was angry and wanted to speak with her she would remain innocent and pouty, simpering for his affection. If he wanted her for bedding she would lower her bodice and crawl into his thoughts with capricious actions and heavily lashed, seductive eyes. As it was, Anne did not know which mood to practice on Henry.

George met his sister's azure gaze and sighed, taking her shoulders and spinning her towards the door. His fingers began to loosen and tighten areas of her corset, pushing the bodice much lower so the King could have a full view of her developed white chest. "Anne," He whispered over her shoulder. "Remember everything we have taught you. Act as if this was before Catherine was divorced of her title. Act as if you are catching him all over again."

Without waiting for Anne to shoot a reply back to him, he pushed the door open and lead her inside.

Anne hid her fear of what was to come as soon as the door was opened and she was exposed to the King. She aroused a very piquant expression into her eyes. George did not say anything at all. He did not present Anne to the Henry. He simply exited the room with one last macabre look at Anne.

"Your Majesty," She said, sinking into a curtsey. Her voice was a great deal more placid than her heartbeat.

Henry was facing the fire-place in his chamber, a broad velvet cloak covering his body. A spectacular solid gold goblet dangled from his fingers carelessly, wine dripping over its rim. The entire chamber was dark and truculent looking, save two yellow roman candles and the sea of orange flames within the fireplace.

A long silence passed. Anne did not move. She watched Henry staring at the spitting, dancing flames of the fire, wondering what was traveling through his mind. He was affected by drink, she could already tell that. When Henry consumed too much alcohol he always contained a malicious, wrathful look behind his eyes. Lazily, he brought the goblet to his lips, taking a prolonged gulp.

He turned around briefly and looked at Anne. His fingers clenched around the neck of the goblet very suddenly. He turned back towards the fire and threw the goblet into the flames with a wild amount of rage. The alcohol made a small burst and the golden cup could be seen curling under the heat of the fire. Henry rose from the chair and began walking towards Anne who was stationed near the doorway. He was grinning, but it was offset by the savage look in his eyes. It simply made his face look threatening.

"Anne," He said wickedly, sweeping his eyes over her body. He was pleased.

Anne stared at him, fazed by his outburst if violence. He reached out to touch her perfect, pale shoulder, but Anne shrugged it away from his touch, glaring at him under her thick black lashes. She could not trust the crazed look lurking behind his every move.

"Your Majesty, you called for me?" She asked airily, cautious of the hapless, drunken look in his eyes.

"Yes," He responded, a devilish undertone in his voice. Roughly, he took her slender waist into his hands, pulling her into his chest. Anne knew exactly what he wanted, and he wanted no preamble before he got it.

She began to struggle against his obvious strength. Her eyes dashed up to meet his, pleading for him to release her. Their hollow blue color still looked magnificent even when drowned by alcohol. Yet, she could not let him take her like this. Then he would win the ongoing battle against them. He had to know that Anne loved him and deserved to be treated like a Queen rather than a brood mare. Yet, it was rather difficult when his roaming hands were encompassing her body.

Soon his burning lips were trailing over her skin, leaving boiling patches along her neck and shoulders.

"No, Henry," She panted, holding onto his strong shoulders for balance. Time was whirling past her as Henry began to kiss her lips luxuriously. She refused to let herself be taken in by him. She could not let her lips move against him and give him the pleasure of knowing she was going to give him everything he wanted. "Henry," She murmured against his lips. Anne could now feel his warm hands at her back, traveling down to her exposed corset. His nimble fingers began to undo the laces without falter while his lips remained over hers.

Anne gasped and wrestled her lips away from his wretchedly. "No, Henry- I said no!" His head pulled away from her body. She could tell he was displeased, yet she still pushed herself away from him and rushed over to the side of the fire, the farthest distance from him. Her chest rose and fell uneasily, hand pressed against her thumping heart.

"Anne," Henry said, walking to her side. Lewd thoughts raced through his mind as he stared at her eyes as wide as a doe's, lips temptingly pink and trembling. "I've been thinking about you the entire length of the day,"

In response Anne simply turned to give Henry an image of her profile-the most exquisite profile in all of the Kingdom.

Angered, Henry grabbed his wife's arm. He was hardly in the room to play games with his own wife. "Do not turn cold on me now, Anne," He hissed, tightening his grip on her wrist.

"You can't have me tonight," She said succinctly, turning to stare at him without fear directly into his eyes. Anne had not the faintest idea how he would react, and she trembled slightly with the possibilities.

Henry first grinned his wolfish, rogue grin. Then as he realized Anne was more then serious, the warmth froze and he furrowed his brow. He had been yearning for the body of his wife all day, and now she refused him? Henry jerked her against him, unaware of her gasp of pain. "I cannot have _you_?" He slurred in full fury, holding Anne's face to his. "I am the King of England, and you are my wife, and I may have you whenever I may Goddamn please!" His voice climaxed into a shout, sending a tremor through Anne's ribcage. She focused on keeping her brave facade though it was shattered by the water building behind her eyes. _Do not let him see you cry, you fool._

Anne could feel Henry's fingernails dig into her skin before he finally released her. "Undress." He demanded, releasing her and walking towards his card table where a bottle of wine rested. Henry swung it back, taking huge mouthfuls without a glass.

Anne hesitated. The voracious lust and demand searing through her husband was evident. Did she really have the power to refuse him his marital rights? _You have a right to make him listen to you._

"No," She stated, a severe wave of fear passing over her as Henry strode across the room slowly with the wine bottle still in his hand.

"I never knew _you_ to be afraid of marital affections," He laughed venomously.

"I am no coward," She spat, her dignity rising in her. Seeing him laugh in her face in such a way left her rampant.

"Then why do you refuse me now?"

"Henry, because... I love you," She stumbled to find the words, straightening her shoulders proudly as she delivered them. Henry looked at her as if she were mad, and began laughing once again from his chest.

"And it is because the love you bear me is so very great that you refuse to lay with me?" He chuckled once again, the ugliest laugh Anne had ever heard.

"No! It's because I don't want to lay with a man who does not love _me_ or the beautiful daughter I bore him!"

It was this statement that silenced his anger. For a brief moment, Anne basked in triumph, radiating in the victory.

Henry's smiling face changed to neutrality. A few moments of thoughtful silence passed as Henry thought over what Anne had said, savage rage boiling beneath his blood. He did not love the woman who had torn his country apart? Did not love one of his own children? What she was accusing him of made him want to break her foolish neck. She could not see how much he cared and desired for her, after the hell she had put him through to get her. The very thought of it put him in an ugly, violent temperament.

He grabbed her shoulders, pressing the bones underneath her skin until they were in an immense amount of pain. Anne's smile faded and she choked on her words as Henry slammed her against the wall behind her back. Her eyes grew wide and deliciously frightened. "I don't love you? I don't love you, you stupid fool? I tore my entire goddamn country apart for _you. _I divorced a faithful wife for _you. _I nearly destroyed England's political ties for the lazy whore you are! I jeopardized all of the Kingdom for you, Anne Boleyn," He paused to thrust her more firmly into the wall. Anne gasped, terrified, yet Henry lowered his face more closely to hers, his blood shot eyes illuminated by a flickering candle light. A mix of treacherous alcohol and hatred burned through him. He could kill her for these accusations she laid upon him. "And my daughter, how dare you insinuate such things about my affections toward her. I only hope she does not turn into a wench like her mother." He spat the last words at her and stared into Anne's hardened eyes for a brief moment. Henry then released her and paced towards his bed, pulling another drag of wine down his throat. He turned back to look at the fire. Quickly, he pulled his arm back and fired the bottle at the wall, hearing it crack and spill down the wall with satisfaction. What he heard next surprised him out of his blind fury.

"Yes Henry, but where you when everything was falling apart?" Anne peeled herself away from the wall and stormed towards him, focusing on not wincing at the throbbing pain in her shoulders. A raised voice was not going to stop her from speaking. His alcohol tainted breath still lingered near her nose. This might be her only chance to speak alone with Henry for a very long time. "Where where you when I had no boys to give you, and Elizabeth was your only option as an heir? You were chasing after that blond – bitch, Jane Seymour! You were not there for the two of us. I cannot lay with a man who cares so little for me _now_! You may have loved me a long while ago, but your love is quickly spent, Henry!" She rushed to his side, her skirts swishing around his legs. Her small white hand desperately took his arm, pulling his eyes around to meet hers. "Look at me Henry. Look at me! If you love me, you must act like it, and not let your council men, who so obviously carry a never dying love for Catherine, try to soil me and your daughter in your eyes," Anne lowered her voice to a delicate whisper. "Henry, I am in love with you, my darling."

Anne peered up at him, relieved that she had spoken everything she had needed to say without Henry becoming angry once again. Now that the worst was over, she was fearless. Anne quickly lowered her lashes and worked up a batch of watery tears. None of them were false. Real passion was vibrating between them and it was unignorable. It was incredibly relieving to have Henry know everything she had been trapping within her for the past months. Overwhelmed with a relief of emotion, Anne allowed three singular tears to slip down her cheeks while Henry looked into her eyes.

He was wallowing in pain. "Leave me," Henry said in a voice devoid of anger, but rather of broken rage. Anne opened her mouth to protest but looked into his eyes and understood. She quickly bowed, realizing she had most likely ruined herself. Henry had wanted a romantic night with her, and possibly the conceiving of a new son, but she had answered his desires with a screaming match. She had only proved to him how unconstrained she truly was. Anne had gambled and lost. He would retreat back to that Seymour creature and leave her out to hang as the discarded Queen, just as he had done to Catherine.

Defeated by Henry's pregnant silence, she walked to the door. As she began to twist the knob, she felt Henry's hands upon her corset. They whirled her around to face him. A hard, rushed kiss was planted upon her unprepared lips. For five lengthy moment, Anne melted into Henry, uninhibited. She broke away from him and looked at him with fascinated, darkened eyes. "Anne Boleyn, I love you. I wish I did not, but your love has poisoned me. I cannot be rid of it" He swallowed deeply and whispered the sentiment into her ear. His hand touched the petal smooth skin of her face. "Oh God, I wish I was not." He whispered once again in the pained voice of a mad man.

Before she had regained her senses, Anne was out of his chamber's once again, standing in the hallway, suddenly cold. She had exited the way she had entered two hours before: confused.

George, who had been waiting for her by the door, turned acute, sharp eyes on her. "What happened in there? All I could heard was screaming and crashing."

"Oh George, leave it. I can hardly breathe, my heart is beating too quickly," As George nodded his exhausted head and escorted her back through the hall, Anne smiled tenderly. _Do I have his heart?_ She felt awfully, frighteningly close.

_Review, Review, Review! And please check out my new crossover idea._

_Thank you for reading!_


	9. Falling from Grace

"Your Majesty," Nan gently brushed her Queen's limp hand. "It's the morning."

Anne muffled a moan, separating her eyelids slowly. England's buttery sunrise poured into the blue pigmentation of her eyes, causing her pupils to shrink away from the light. Her head was swimming in warmth and sensitivity. Anne's delicate shoulder blades hurt terribly along with her mind. The residue of late night wine coursed through her blood, making rising from her bed even more of a difficult task.

Yet, as the Queen of England she could not be indolent. Anne pushed her palms into the mattress of her expansive carved bed, hands drowning in the feathers below her.

Every movement was an agony. The muscles of her neck and shoulders screamed in horrific pain. Anne could not mask it. She even winced as the chambermaids fluffed her pillows and helped her to sit up in bed.

"Is something the matter, Your Majesty?" Nan questioned with concern in her voice. Two of her younger Ladies in Waiting rustled around the room, drawing curtains and wrinkling their small noses in distaste as dust that settled in the threads of the curtains flew into their noses. Anne curiously oversaw the older of the two Ladies- Lady Marcy, or some name to that effect- grab a chambermaid and order her to take the curtains down and beat them until they were clean enough to eat off of.

"Your Majesty?" Nan questioned again, hovering by the side of her Queen.

"Yes, Nan darling, I am awake," Anne yawned, irritated. She would have liked to lay in the feather sea of her bed, dreaming of the bliss she was sure to encounter with Henry.

Nan dropped into a curtsy, helping Anne to rise from the bed. Then a procession of the Queen's Ladies filed into the room, drowsy with the morning. With moistened cloths they began to clean Anne's every limb, while the younger Ladies' nimble fingers began to work Anne's silky hair into an elegant chignon and dab perfumed water behind her ears.

Anne stood perfectly erect while women buzzed around her, putting a unanimous effort into making their Queen appear stunning. Two girls were behind her, stripping her of her nightshift and replacing it with a whalebone corset and lace covered under garments.

Anne focused all of her attention into staying focused and alert. The pounding in her skull was intensifying like a horse's gallop.

There was a sharp gasp from Lady Elizabeth who was tightening Anne's corset. Anne turned her neck to the side and swiveled her eyes back to Elizabeth. Her gray eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Is something the matter, Lady Elizabeth?" Subconscious concern seeped into Anne's voice. Was something the matter with her?

A pregnant pause ensued as Elizabeth contemplated telling her Queen about the monstrous scars upon her spinal cord. A black bruise covered Anne's shoulder blades and raw, red patches replaced the flawless white skin of her neck and upper back. Elizabeth swallowed and wondered what the King had done to Anne. Of course it could only have been him. Anne had not fallen from her horse on the hunt, and he was the only other being to see the Queen alone before the night was out. And being a former mistress of His Majesty, Elizabeth knew how violent he could be.

Lady Elizabeth swallowed and guided her Queen to a large slab of mirror glass, pointing to her back. Anne's breath audibly caught in her throat.

All of the Ladies in the room turned to stare at Anne who was stroking and gawking at the skin of her back. They froze and covered their open mouths with a hand.

Anne explored every new facet of her ugly skin with her eyes. Deep bruises, indented skin, and redness covered her back. A fleeting thought crossed her mind. Henry slamming her into a wall with his large fists clawed about her defined shoulders.

"My God," She murmured, touching her skin lightly. A moment of silence passed before Anne realized the staring women gathered around her. Masking her shock and regaining her poise and position, she began shooting out orders.

"Lady Margaret, find me a dress with a full back and a thickly jeweled necklace," Lady Margaret Lee's face furrowed in disgust as she took one final look at Anne's back. "Don't stand there like a goose, hurry!" Anne barked.

Lady Margaret began digging through a mahogany chest of dresses, rifling through the glittering gowns with back exposure. Almost all of Anne's dress creations had a large amount of skin exposed, so finding a modest gown was quite a task. Finally, after the help of three other of the Ladies, Margaret found a chunky, emerald green garment in the deepest depths of the chest.

"Will this do, Your Majesty?" She asked, holding the dusty gown at the edges of her fingertips in distaste.

Anne turned and absorbed the appearance of the dress. It was a deep green, velvet gown. It was obviously from last season because it was painfully out of style. The sleeves were long, the neckline hit the collarbone area, a plain stomacher aside from a design of pearls, and skirts deeply tapered. It was absolutely hideous.

Hideous or not, she had no other options.

With a deep sigh of displeasure, Anne nodded and beckoned Margaret forward. After beating the dust from the green fibers of the dress, the Ladies wrestled the gown over Anne's head, careful not to interfere with her perfectly arranged hair. Instead of settling for looking like an old maid, Anne ordered Lady Rochford to find her the most extravagant crown and jewelry that the castle had to offer.

What she came up with made the Queen's ensemble bearable. Resting upon her black hair was a tall diamond crown with looming emeralds decorating the silver. Upon her neck lay a heavy ruby necklace, with matching jewels upon her fingers and wrists. Even her high-heeled slippers were extravagant.

"Thank you, Ladies." She said, flashing a grateful smile to the women who had slaved over her attire. All of them sank into half-hearted curtseys and sashayed from the room; all except Nan and Lady Eliza. They were the Ladies who escorted Anne to breakfast each and every morning.

"Come," She said, lifting the folds of her heavy skirts and walking forward with the elegance of an Egyptian Princess. No matter how much pain she had to endure, Anne would always carry her title of Queen with poise.

The three women set off down the hall, their footsteps making an empty clack into the air. As they approached the dining hall, Anne heard a muffled sound leaking from a closed room. She halted to decipher the voices.

Nan and Lady Eliza glanced at each other with pale faces, knowing before their Queen what was happening. The sounds coming from behind the door were turning into cries followed by heavy panting.

"Oh my God," Anne whispered under her breath, identifying Henry's passionate shouts and Jane Seymour's feminine moans.

"Shall we move forward, Your Majesty? Breakfast will be served in-" Eliza delicately tried to cut in and steer Anne's mind from the obvious intercourse happening between the King and Lady Seymour.

"No." Anne interrupted sharply, steeling her watering eyes straight ahead. Her fists flexed out and curled in once again. "You girls go ahead," She demanded. Nan touched Anne's arm and began to protest, but she simply held up her hand to dismiss her. Nan and Eliza both bowed and disappeared down the hall.

Anne hiked her long skirts above her ankles, walking upon her toes to muffle any possible sound coming from the heels in her slippers. She pressed her ear into the wood of the door.

The climax of their activity had ceased and Anne heard the rustling of sheets and haste of pulling on clothing. She heard noisy giggling as Henry pulled Jane into his chest and carressed her mouth in a kiss.

Fresh tears burned behind Anne's eyelids. She could listen to their lovers banter no longer. Anne pulled up her skirts and bolted, not caring if the entire castle heard her graceless, pounding feet. Her breath came in loud rasps, filling her lungs luxuriously. Fat drops of water spilled down her cheeks and Anne didn't bother to swipe them away. The perfect black coils on top of her head fell down in large ringlets to her shoulders. "Damn him," She sputtered aloud, stopping to lean against a wall in front of the dining hall.

What had the previous night been to Henry? A drunken affair he could hardly remember this very morning? None of it had meant anything to him, that was very clear. In his drunken rage he had called the prettiest maiden of the day, which had happened to be his wife, to paw at her for awhile. But then he had professed his love to her.

He didn't mean it. Anne realized with despair, running a hand under her nose. She lifted her head and blinked her reddened eyes. She was foolish to have thought she could have captured Henry Tudor's heart in the course of one night. It was possible that Henry could not even recall their passion soaked evening at all.

Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the castle corridor. Henry was coming.

Anne snapped into position, sweeping her hair back up into its pin, scrubbing the tears from her eyes, and pinching color into her cheeks. Shivers of shock and disappointment wracked her body. As the footsteps drew close, Anne strode forward to the entrance of the room where she and Henry would be sharing a meal. She curled her lips back into a smile and walked into the dining hall, praying the melancholy she felt would not reveal itself.

_-_-_-_-_T-_-_U-_-_D-_-_O-_-_R-_-_S-_-_-_-_-

Later that evening, Anne sat on a tall throne amidst an ocean of Ladies and great Knights. Her eyed were glazed, staring out with little interest at the dancing couples and musicians, plucking and pounding their instruments. Women giggled and bounced on their small feet, dancing in step to the music Mark Smeaton and a gaggle of musicians had selected. The Men chuckled and stared at their women with fondness, tossing out winks to their partners if their eyes happened to meet.

Anne drew a stream of red wine into her mouth. She rolled the blood red liquid around her tongue, watching the dancers.

She longed to be as carefree and happy as they were. To be able to dance, play, and flirt simply for the enjoyment of toying with a man seemed like heaven. Now Anne was a slave to her charms, wearing them down on Henry and only Henry. She had to work incessantly to hone them to perfection, for if she didn't, she may lose his favor. Charms used to be a form of play. Now they were used to keep her hand playing in the game of life.

The music came to a whining halt. Anne looked up, startled. All of the men and women were staring at the doorway, folding over in bows as Henry strode into the room with Jane Seymour following closely behind him. The only sound reverberating in the room was Henry's boot heels making contact with the floor and Jane's dress folds rustling together.

Mark Smeaten surfaced from his bow, gazing towards Anne with pity. She looked lost and flustered upon her throne. Catherine would have politely looked the other way if Henry had taken to parading his mistress in front of the entire Court. She would have acted as if nothing was the matter, yet Anne did not possess that ability. She locked her eyes onto Henry and refused to look away. He could see the pride rising in her throat as her blue eyes iced over.

Anne rose to her feet, making a small curtsy to Henry. "Your Majesty," She whispered, flicking her tongue over her dry lips. How she despised him. Anne felt indignant and humiliated. She had been lost in a trance and when she came into reality, he had to have that pale face whore right in front of her eyes. Her visceral reaction was to vomit, but she clung to her composure knowing the Court would be expecting it of her.

"My Queen," He said, a lyric of sarcasm skating over his words. His eyes trailed over her appearence with distaste. She adorned a dusty, modest velvet gown. Not an ounce of skin below her collar bone was revealed. An unsettling silence fell over the party and Henry frowned. If he did as he wanted, he could take Jane's lithe body out into a dance, but it was customary to allow the Queen to have his first dance. "May I have a dance?" His voice lacked enthusiasm and Anne responded with a curt nod. The musicians hastily jumped into a violin heavy tune and all of the dance partners cleared the floor.

"Did all of your new dresses burn in a fire?" Henry asked sardonically, knowing the music drowned out his voice so the other courtesans could not hear him.

"No, Your Majesty. I chose this dress because I thought it eccentric," Anne said through tight lips. Before he could laugh at her remark, Anne pushed the conversation forward. "How did you sleep last night, Henry?"

Henry's face changed momentarily. He thought back to how he felt in the morning. His head was clouded and his eyes ached. At first he could recall nothing of the prior night and put it to being filled with drink. But as the day coursed on he had small, odd memories of Anne being with him and.. crying for some odd reason. He could not remember whatever it was for, and he was not even certain he had seen her last night. Henry assumed it had been his imagination.

"I don't recall."

Anne's lip twitched slightly, now certain he remembered nothing of the night before. She allowed him to sweep her over the dance floor, wincing when he touched her back too roughly. Henry took no notice.

-_-_-_-_-_T-_-_U-_-_D-_-_O-_-_R-_-_S-_-_-_-_-_

As the moon climbed into the blackness of the sky, Anne sat alone in her chamber, brushing the knots from her hair. A cup of untouched tea sat on her night table, filled with herbs of fertility that the apothecary had prescribed. The luke warm liquid had foul smells about it and Anne refused to so much as wet her lips with it. It was most likely poisoned.

A tear moistened her sooty eyelashes. Her heart was completely vacant at the moment, excluding the vein of love she carried for her children. Anne wanted to slip down the halls to hold her son and kiss Elizabeth's forehead, but was too completely exhausted to move. She was grateful that Henry had allowed both of their children to travel with them to Greenwich for the summer to experience all of the celebrations that would be held for the birth of their heir. Holding Edward's slight frame in her arms replaced her strength as nothing else could.

Heaving a sigh, Anne replaced the brush back to its position on her night table and folded her legs up to her chest. She would not be able to sleep tonight. The pain in her back had been intensified by having a corset strapped to its raw skin all day. Now it throbbed and stung incredibly.

A knock sounded at her door and George slipped in without waiting for her to open it herself.

"Father has taken ill," He said, his face unusually grave. Anne simply nodded without hearing him. Her father would be fine, she assured herself naively. George immediately took note of his sister's foul mood and decided against telling her that their father was extremely ill with a lung infection. "Darling, what's the matter?" He asked tenderly, taking her hand. Anne jerked it away from him.

"All my efforts have been in vain, George! Henry cares as little for me as if I had delivered him no son at all," She sulked, cupping her face in a palm.

George had heard the gossip of the celebration. Henry taking Jane Seymour into the party directly. He even heard that after Anne had retired for the evening, he had kissed Jane full on the lips in front of the entire court. George clucked soothingly. "No, not at all! You must be patient with the man. He will realize he loves you in time, if you're diligent,"

"What if he does not?" Anne shot back, remembering back to the time she had asked the same question to Catherine.

Anne massaged a cloth over the Queen's feet, taking great care to keep the water away from the hem of Catherine's night slip. She kept her eyes fixed downward, when suddenly the Queen swiped the basin of water away from Anne's hands. She looked to her left, asking another Lady in Waiting for a towel to dry her hands and the Queen's feet.

"The necklace," The Queen began, her eyes bolted onto Anne's emerald ornamented necklace. "Who gave it to you?"

Anne fluttered her eyelashes and focused on drying her Queen's feet, knowing that Catherine knew who the necklace was from. Only one man in England could afford such a necklace, and it was her husband.

"Answer me," She demanded calmly, staring at Anne as if she were an urchin.

Anne swiveled her eyes up and gazed at the old Queen for a moment. Without fear she stated; "His Majesty,"

Catherine smirked slightly and leaned forward, taking the necklace into her hands to evaluate its beauty. Annoyed, Anne bent her neck to allow her a better view of her new jewelry.

The Queen breathed something in Spanish in utter disgust, unaware Anne knew she had said "an expensive Whore!"

"I am no whore," Anne declared, locking her eyes on the Queen's. She raised an eyebrow in a challenge and paused. "Your Majesty," She added, her voice laced with mockery. "I love His Majesty, and I believe he loves me." She enunciated each word carefully, watching as the Queen's cool face changed to amusement.

"He's infatuated by you as men often are by new things. So he won't see who you really are. And he will tire of you, just as all the others." She spoke with such certainty. Anne's ire and wit slowly rose to her tongue. She glanced her eyes down briefly and her lips twitched in a suppressed smirk.

"And what if he does not?" She questioned as innocently as she could muster. Catherine was frightened of Anne's rising favor with the King and having the possibility of Anne taking Henry from her being spoken aloud flew her into a rare rage, her eyes wide with fury. Anne hardly listened to her next rant of words, rising and exiting the room only when ordered to, as she knew she would be.

Anne shuddered, finally realizing Catherine's fear of falling out of grace.


	10. Temptation

This is just a short preview of this chapter. I will have the finished product up by tomorrow. Please review!

Anne closed her eyes. She was content soaking in her before dinner bath.

She longed to stay in the safety of the water forever, but knew dinner with Court would be served within the hour. She had to hurry.

Anne began by scrubbing her skin meticulously with perfumed soap. Then with the help of her ladies, she toweled off and slipped into a silk robe.

"What do you wish to wear tonight, Your Majesty?" Eleanor asked.

"My royal blue gown made of velvet," She said, standing very still as her ladies hugged a corset to her ribcage and began doing the laces. "And grab me a blue bow for my hair, please."

The women worked in perfect unison. They attached a wide swaying hoop to Anne's corset, pulled the rich blue gown over her head, coiffed her hair into a stylish bun, and tied a small silk bow into the raven strands.

Anne stepped in front of a mirror, gazing at her reflection. She was pleased.

"How do I look ladies?" She asked, turning to face them. All of them nodded with simultaneous approval, complimenting their Queen. Anne smiled, hoping Henry would feel the same way. "Then let us go."

With Anne leading the way, they all hurried towards the dining hall in a rustle of silk petticoats and rich velvet.

As the women entered the hall, all of the waiting court stood and bowed. Only Henry remained seated.

His eyes had a confused, transfixed expression in them. Anne grinned and took the seat to his left, carefully arranging the folds of her dress around her hips.

"Good evening, Henry," She purred, tilting her eyes up to look at him. Anne knew she was breathtakingly gorgeous tonight.

She had felt completely alone a fortnight ago. Henry had completely forgotten about the steamy tryst they had shared by the fireplace and reverted back to Jane Seymour. Now, it was his time to pay. Anne knew she could ensnare him with her beauty and charm. It would only be a matter of time.

As the first and second course was served, Henry said nothing. His deep gaze was fixed on Anne and he continually nursed a glass of wine. Anne sat with an arched back, tilting her head to Henry's best viewing advantage. She carried on an easy conversation with George for most of the meal and refused to meet her husband's eyes. Anne was intent on depriving him of her lusting eyes. Maybe then he could appreciate her.

As desert was being served, Anne felt her dress moving. Perplexed, she looked towards Henry. He was now conversing with Charles Brandon who was seated closest to him on the other side of Anne. His shoulder was tilted at an awkward angle, but other then that he looked completely preoccupied.

Anne focused on ignoring it, but the movement didn't stop. She cast her eyes down to her lap and gasped. Henry's hand was underneath her skirts, slithering up her thigh. Suddenly, she felt very warm. Her own desires were sizzling as his hand progressed up her leg.

She hastily reached down and clutched his hand, pulling it away from her skin. Her gaze matched Henry's. He rose from his chair and moved towards her. His hand grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her head to his shoulder.

"Meet me in my chamber tonight," He whispered throatily.

His voice sent vibrations down her spine, making her weak. Anne nodded and pulled her head back, staring deep into his tortured eyes for a long moment.

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	11. A Woman He Couldn't Handle

_My writing skills are slightly rusty; please excuse me if this chapter is rushed. I hope you enjoy, and as always, review!_

Chapter Ten (Part Two)

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Henry sank down into his throne once again, his gaze roaming over the room of courtesans. Anne's eyes were bolted to the floor, shocked at what had just occurred between her and her husband. Electric currents were still buzzing up and down her spine from his touch. Her heart was thumping sporadically in her chest, and her cheeks were flaming red.

She swiveled her eyes up for a brief moment. Henry was laughing warmly at something a pretty maiden had whispered in his ear. Anne's stomach lurched. Her head began to pound with annoyance and anger towards him. Could he not keep his attentions focused for but a minute? It was always the newest, most beautiful faces that won Henry's rapture. That was exactly what she was determined to change.

Anne rose from her throne and made hasty apologies to her Court that she was exhausted and needed her sleep. The obvious flush in her cheeks convinced all of Court that she was sickly and needed to rest. All stood to bow to their Queen, bidding her a good night and blessings. Her ladies rushed after her, saddened to be taken from flirting with gentleman for the evening.

The Queen did not look back to see if Henry was watching her exit, but she made a point to sway her hips as she left the room.

"Are you ill, Your Majesty?" Lady Eleanor questioned, concern rattling her voice. Anne shook her head, too preoccupied with thoughts of Henry to answer. She raised the hem of her dress and quickened her pace towards her chambers, eager to be undressed.

Her thoughts darted back and forth in her mind. Would Henry come for her? How soon would it be? After midnight, perhaps? What would he want from her? How much would she give him?

The women finally reached Anne's chambers. Anne gave orders for them to help her undress into a fresh nightgown. The ladies did as they were told. All of them worked in perfect unison to first remove the Queen of her gown, strip her of her corset and pantalets, clothe her with a nightgown, and free her hair of its ribbon.

"Thank you. You may all go rejoin the festivities, if you wish," Anne said in a weary voice. She offered the ladies her hand to kiss and a small smile before they left her chambers and hurried to rejoin the party.

As the last woman disappeared into the shadows of the castle, Anne trotted over to her mirror.

Her icy eyes evaluated her appearance. She needed to look disheveled, but tempting in case Henry did come to her. Anne unbuttoned the front of the gown, revealing a good portion of her creamy skin. She then freed her hair from its perfect bun, allowing the raven tresses to fall in ringlets about her shoulders. These simple alterations made her look a great deal more attractive, but she wanted more. She wanted to be the ultimate picture of desire. Tonight would be the night Henry became hers once again. She had to ensnare him with the most beautiful of traps.

A small sigh escaped her parted lips. Anne knew exactly what had to be done. She reached under the dress and removed the undergarments around her hips and breasts, allowing them to fall to the floor.

Anne looked in the mirror once again. Now, the gauzy material of the nightgown clung to her every curve. Henry's eyes would be able to see directly through it and observe the porcelain skin lying directly underneath. It was certainly not appropriate night attire for a Queen, but it was meant for Henry's eyes to ravish.

Now, the ball was entirely in Henry's court. All Anne was permitted to do was sit and wait. She could go nowhere in her scanty attire.

It seemed as if hours passed. Anne paced her room, back and forth, until her feet grew sore. She washed her face, but crème on her hands, but nothing seemed to pass the time. It began to seem as if Henry was never going to come.

Anne lay down on her bed, allowing her eyes to dip with sleep. She was not going to wait up all night for a man that was probably never going to come.

Yet, at some dark hour between three and four in the morning, a soft knock came to her door. Anne was barely roused from her sleep, when the knock came again, louder. Could it be him? She thought frantically, sliding out from underneath her blankets and hopping out of bed. A sudden chill wound around her, taking Anne by surprise. She then remembered how little clothing was on her lithe figure.

Taking gentle steps towards the door, Anne's heart began to pump vigorously. She had never been more nervous in her lifetime to see a man.

With a final deep breath, she cautiously cracked the door.

"Who is it?" She inquired.

"Only your husband," came Henry's response. He forced the door open and entered the chamber without any permission from Anne.

The room was completely black, considering that Anne had no candles lit. All her eyes could make out was his muscular frame moving towards her.

"I told you to come to my chamber," Henry's voice sounded irritated. He was a mere foot from his wife. She could feel his breath on her lips, and it surprisingly did not reek of alcohol.

"Forgive me," She cooed, taking a small step towards him. Inside, Anne was elated. Henry had sought her out, meaning she had been on his mind. He wanted her. And he wanted her bad enough to barge into her room in the middle of the night. Now, it was Anne's turn to reward him.

"I cut my hand on your door," He said. His mood was indecipherable to Anne in the darkness. She clicked her tongue and took his right hand in hers.

"Is it this one?" She asked in a sweet, flirtatious tone. His head nodded briefly. The air in the room became tighter, more electrically charged.

"On the thumb," Henry added.

Anne's lips curled back in a smile, which was cloaked in the darkness. She brought his hand to her lips, and pushed his thumb into her mouth.

Henry recoiled out of surprise. His muscles then tightened with pleasure. He felt Anne's tongue glide over his wound. She licked it and rolled her tongue over it in an overly sensuous manner, driving him mad.

"All better?"

"Anne…" He moaned her name, clasping his eyes shut.

"Don't speak," She commanded. In one languid move, Anne snatched his left hand and pressed it tightly against her hip. Her lips went to his ear, placing a trail of kisses all over his neck.

Anne immediately felt Henry respond. His muscles were tight against her lips. His heart was racing. It wasn't long before his hands were pawing all over her body. They slithered under her thin nightgown, exploring the tender area between her thighs.

For a few moments, they both lost themselves. Anne cried out loudly as his fingers slipped inside of her. Henry clamped his hand over her mouth. She was losing sight of her purpose. It had been so long since a man had touched her in this way, and her senses were screaming for more.

"Henry," She panted in his ear, as his fingers tore off her night gown. Anne heard his breathing becoming more and more rapid and his movements becoming less and less controlled. He lifted her up and wound both of her legs tightly around his waist.

Henry began to undo his trousers, when Anne came back to herself. Her heart began to slow and her blood ceased gushing. She was forgetting herself. Anne Boleyn was no fool. She would not give herself away to him completely tonight. Henry was beyond excited; he was mad with desire. This was the point where she had to cut him off. Anne had to make him leave, still yearning for her.

"Henry… Henry, no. Henry, stop," She breathed, untangling herself from his hips.

Henry stood, completely perplexed. He watched her naked, bend over and slip her nightgown over her shoulders. His desire for her was wild. He _needed_ her. Henry was exhausted with watching her from a distance. He wanted all of his wife, right now. And he would not be refused. His arms reached out and ensnared Anne, pulling her slim body to his chest. Immediately, his lips covered hers and his tongue was pushed between her teeth. At first, she struggled. But soon he felt her body relax. This made him shutter. Her submission made his eyes blur and heart skip too many beats to count.

Something was dangerously wrong. Anne could feel it. An insignificant moment of kissing was turning into more then she would allow. Before she could protest, Anne could feel her nightgown being bunched around her hips. She began to writhe and struggle, but it made no impact on Henry. His hands grabbed her roughly and pushed her onto the nearest bed.

"Henry, no!" she hissed, shoving against his chest. He only grunted and pressed his lips over hers.

It was all happening too quickly. Before she had time to think of a way to divert Henry, it was too late. Tears of shock sprang to her eyes as he entered her. She gasped and screamed and cried out, to no avail. He began to rock over-top of her, thrusting harder and more quickly the greater she struggled. Anne gasped and arched her back, digging her nails into his back. This only seemed to encourage him. When he was finally finished, he slipped off of her and pulled his trousers back up to his hips.

Anne lay completely still, staring up at the ceiling. She had lost control of the situation and her mind was now swimming. Numbly, she pulled a blanket around herself and rose up to a sitting position. Her hair created a curtain around her face, shielding Henry's view of the anguish in her eyes.

Yet, instead of accepting the obvious defeat facing her, Anne stood up. She removed the blanket from her body and swayed towards Henry, who had been studying her in silence. Anne made no other move, but simply allowed him to observe her perfect form.

"You are the finest of goddesses," He whispered heavily after a long silence. Anne's face remained stony as she glided over to him. She pressed her bare body against him and wound her arms around his neck. She slid her tongue over his lips and bit the lower, drawing blood. All of this she did without feeling, yet she could feel his body tighten and grow moist with sweat.

All she wanted was to drive him wild one last time. Now she wanted him gone. Anne could not stand him any longer.

Abruptly, she pushed him away.

"Leave me," She demanded roughly, turning away from his desperate gaze.

"Anne…"

"I said leave me!" Anne was shaking with anger. She could not mask her feelings. He had taken advantage of her. She had not been willing to give herself up to him, yet he had taken it without warrant. And she loathed herself even more for enjoying it. For the most part, she was suffering from hurt pride.

Henry moved forward and snatched Anne's wrist. He could feel her shaking, and when she peered her wide eyes up at him, he could feel they were filled with anger.

"Release me," She hissed, jerking her wrist away from him.

What had happened to the desirable goddess standing before him just a moment before? She had turned into a furious, spitting snake in a matter of seconds. Something was wrong.

A ray of moonlight pierced the window and shone onto Anne's face. Her eyes were sapphire with fury, and her soft lips pouted. She was beautiful. Henry took her hand very gently now and stared at her face. This stunning, wild, unpredictable woman was his. No other maiden in his castle had her temperament or beauty. None came close. No woman was as clever, or charming, or mothered his only son. None of them were his wife. And yet, he treated them with more regard then he treated her.

"Oh Anne," He whispered, drawing her shaking form into his arms.

"Let me go!" She sobbed, bursting into tears she could no longer hold in. Anne did not want to be held by-by this treacherous pig that treated her as no better than his mistress! She loathed and abhorred Henry Tudor, yet was still absolutely, out of her mind, in love with him.

Henry only held her more tightly to him, petting her hair and cooing into her ear. When her tears had finally stopped flowing like a brook, he kissed her white cheek.

"Anne, let me stay with you tonight," Her hard, tear-filled eyes glared up at him. "Please," He begged. She softened as the practical side of her chimed in. There was nothing she wanted more then to be held safely in his arms for an entire night and this was an opportunity for Anne and Henry to connect once again.

No words needed to be said. Anne crawled under the thick blankets and curled into Henry's chest. This was the first time in what seemed like a century they had lain like this, side by side.

Anne was content knowing she was the only female in possession of Henry that night. Henry was contend with the new feelings generating in his mind.

Neither of them said a word. They lay, listening to one another's heart beat. Anne fell into a deep sleep to the steady lull of her husband's heart.

Henry lie awake, holding Anne and staring at her radiant features as she slept.

He relished every moment, knowing this peace between them would not last.

_Yeah, I love cliff-hangers. Please review! Good or bad, I need to know._


	12. The Musicians Were Smiling

_Just a quick update. I refer to the court a lot in this chapter, sorry. Enjoy!_

The musicians were smiling. Their hands patted the tops of their drums to the beat of the Queen's favorite tune.

Anne was on the floor twirling and skipping with her partner, Thomas Wyatt.

"You are a lovely dancer, Thomas," She said as the dance ended. All of the courtiers were clapping and bowing to the musicians.

"Never as lovely as you, Your Majesty." He said, taking her hand and placing a kiss on the tips of her fingers. Anne parted her lips and offered him a grin for his graciousness.

She was in the best of moods. Only two nights prior she had bedded the King. Since then, his interest in her had been passionate and constant. When in the same room in eyes never left her. Even at that moment, sitting upon his throne, Henry's eyes were stitched upon his wife. Seeing her vacant of a dance partner, he strode towards her.

"May I?" He questioned. Anne glanced about the room, noticing everybody's eyes were upon them. She nodded her assent and took his hands.

Mark Smeaton began a very quick, demanding song on his lute. Henry led Anne in the corresponding steps, holding her too tightly for comfort. Anne acted as if nothing was amiss. There was not an inch of space between them. Henry even took the liberty of groping her breasts while he lifted her for a step of the dance.

The court nearly gasped at his lewd behavior. Their Queen's face was flushed scarlet in embarrassment. However, the other Boleyns smirked with their arms folded. George Boleyn leaned towards his father and whispered that he expected she would be pregnant again by the end of fall.

At the conclusion of the dance, there was hesitant applause. A visiting Ambassador from France looked perturbed. He was not accustomed to the ways of the English.

Exhausted from all of the festivities, Anne took Henry's hand and led him back to their thrones. The courtiers resumed their dancing.

The King and Queen made quite the picture. Their hands were intertwined; their heads bent together in private conversation. They remained like this for most of the evening, kissing occasionally and laughing often.

This seemingly perfect scene was intruded upon by the Seymours. They had arrived late due to poor weather. Henry had allowed them to vacation at their country home near Bath, but required they arrive back at court for the weekend festivities. Lent was over and it was time to celebrate at the Tudor Court.

Henry's eyes immediately strayed to the only female of the clan. Jane. She was wearing a deep sea foam green gown with the bodice purposefully low. Her brothers bowed to the King and Queen , followed by Jane. Henry watched her chest carefully as she bent over to curtsey.

Anne noticed his every move. Venom was rising in her blood, threatening to explode out of her mouth. She made no move as Jane bowed to her.

Immediately, Henry was out of his throne. Without a word to Anne, he gathered Jane in a dance. The Seymour men looked pleased as they watched their brood mare being pursued by the King.

The Queen watched them carefully. Jane was everything she was not; blond, obedient, quiet. The Boleyns were dark, risky, and threatening. They had the wit and beauty to advance farther than any family in the kingdom. So why was the yellow haired _bitch _dancing with the King?

Caught in a moment of rage, Anne rose from her throne. She made her way towards the exit of the ballroom, blind with fury. The music came to a crashing halt as everybody hastened to bow to their Queen.

"Anne!" Henry cried, breaking away from Jane.

Anne bitterly turned to face him. She dipped into a shallow curtsey. "Your Majesty," She spat.

The entire court had their eyes glued to them. It was completely silent.

"Why are you leaving?" Henry asked impatiently, grabbing a hold of her wrist.

"Because you're chasing after the same whore that almost broke us!" She cried. The court gasped. Anne sucked down a breath and lowered her voice. "Why am I not enough?"

"Anne!" The King softened, placing a hand to her cheek.

Anne clenched her eyes closed and reminisced to the time before Edward's birth. She remembered Henry's brutal neglect of his wife and his passionate courting of Jane.

"No!" She screamed, well beyond control. Her eyes snapped open. Anne pushed against his chest and peered over his shoulder. Jane's wide eyes stared back at her. "You are a fool, but I am even more of a fool to love you as I do! You would leave me in an instant for another woman, Henry!"

"Anne!"

"No!" She shouted and ripped herself away from him.

In three quick steps, Henry was after her and had caught her. He snatched Anne to his chest. She beat his jeweled shoulders and slapped his face. The Court was at a loss. They had never seen their King assaulted and had no idea what to do.

Henry held her wrists behind her back. He lowered his face towards her so that their lips were almost touching. His breathing increased as if they had just finished a night in bed. The hold he had on her loosened, but Anne did not move. She slid her tongue over her lips, as if about to speak, yet no words came out.

"Anne," Henry moaned, his hands upon her neck now.

"Stop," She said, but now she was smiling.

"Anne." His head lowered to her chest. Henry left a trail of hot kisses over her breasts.

"Yes," Anne gasped in pleasure, closing her eyes. Her fingers found his hair, running through the chestnut locks.

Henry ceased his kissing and gathered his now subdued wife into an embrace. They then moved off down the hall, towards their chamber.

Once they were out of sight, the entire court erupted in conversation.

George Boleyn, always bold, raised his glass and shouted: To the King and Queen!

All, except the Seymours, raised their goblets full of wine in a toast to their royals.


	13. The Golden Prince

"Drink, Ambassador!" Anne Boleyn cried triumphantly, clapping her hands. The French Ambassador scowled with good nature and swung the bottom of his goblet up, draining the wine down his throat. Henry chuckled and clapped the Frenchman on his back, noticing the glassy look taking over his eyes. He was becoming very drunk.

"Don't worry, Ambassador," He said, "Nobody ever loses a drinking game against Anne."

Seven members of court, Anne, Henry, The French Ambassador, George Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey, Thomas Wyatt and Lady Sheldon, were seated around a cozy table. They were involved in a competitive drinking game called "Swing". One person would tell two stories, but only one of them would be true. The rest of the table would have to say which of the tales was true. Whoever guessed incorrectly had to swing their glass back and drink their entire goblet of wine in one gulp. One could become very drunk very quickly.

Anne often insisted on holding intimate gatherings such as these, especially when visiting envoys were present in court.

"It's your turn, Madge," Anne said.

"Yes," Madge began, slurring her words. She had already lost numerous times, which left her nearly as intoxicated as the Ambassador. "My first story is: One day as a little girl I ruined my mother's favorite gown by spilling ink all over it. Or," She paused dramatically. "I kissed George Boleyn last May Day!"

"Oh, I know that one is true!" George announced, winking at Madge. She collapsed in giggles, holding her hand over her mouth.

Everyone at the table chuckled and agreed that it was true. Nobody had to drink that round.

By two o'clock in the morning, everybody's eyes were swimming with alcohol. Henry declared that it was time they all go to sleep for the night. The sober men guarding the door entered the room to assist everybody back to their chambers. Everybody bowed to the King and Queen, but Thomas Wyatt took Anne's hand and placed a light kiss on her fingers. Henry's eyes, which had previously been on Lady Grey's lovely lips, quickly attached themselves to Anne and Wyatt. Anne drunkenly smiled at Wyatt and batted her inky lashes innocently.

"Thank you, Thomas," She slurred. Thomas foolishly allowed his eyes to trail over the Queen's gown. It was a pretty pink silk with gold threads woven into the hem. All he could see of it was a blur of rose. Wyatt bowed to the King and left the room along with the others.

Henry's eyes slithered over Anne with suspicion. Yet, before his uneasiness could take root, a raucous cry echoed through the castle. It was the cry of a child.

"Edward," Anne whispered, suddenly sobered. Both she and Henry rushed down the main corridor, towards the child's room. Three servants were already hovering over his crib, attempting to soothe the young prince. Henry dismissed them immediately.

Tears rushed down Edward's cheeks. He was strong enough to rear himself onto his knees now and look over the edge of his crib. His cobalt eyes shifted from his mother to his father in sudden confusion. He was unaccustomed to having them tend to him in the middle of the night.

"Darling!" Anne rushed over to him and scooped up the twenty pound child into her arms.

"We must have woken him with the drinking games," concluded Henry, strolling over to the side of his wife and child.

Anne stroked her baby's golden hair which was as soft as silk. The crying resolved into hiccoughs now that attention was being paid to him. "Shall we sit and comfort him for awhile?" Anne questioned Henry. He nodded. Both of them seated themselves on the priceless Persian rug, given to them as a gift from the Persian Shah in honor of Edward's birth.

Anne handed the angelic infant over to Henry. In his father's arms, Edward began to coo contently. Henry smiled down at the boy and Edward beamed at him, his legs and arms moving into a kicking frenzy to show his pleasure. Both Anne and Henry laughed; he was utterly irresistible.

"He's going to become a tyrant over the Ladies when he is grown," Anne said, tickling Edward's chin. Henry muttered his agreement. The two fawned over the child they had created together. They remained awake into the dark hours of the night, entertaining Edward. The little faces and noises he made when happy sent Henry and Anne into uproarious laughter. Edward was too charming for his own good.

After a while, the little darling became tired once again. He fell asleep in Henry's arms. The King placed him very gently back into his cradle and tucked blankets all around his small body. He then resumed his position sitting next to his very exhausted wife.

Unconsciously, Anne wiggled closer to Henry. She rested her head against his strong shoulder and yawned.

Henry observed her. She was behaving like a small, cuddly kitten in her weariness, not the usual vicious lioness he knew her to be.

She laid her head against his neck, her lips grazing the skin of his throat. Henry's lips turned up almost impercievably. He planted a gentle kiss on top of her head and wound his arms around his wife. They fell asleep in this position, both dreaming of their child.

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Just a fluffy little chapter. I know some of the facts aren't completely accurate in this chapter, and I apologize for that. Next chapter I have plans for a masquerade and the introduction of a new character. Please review!


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